


The Person on the Other Side of the Glass (Hint: it’s Not Your Reflection)

by FairyRose11



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crazy stuff with mirrors, M/M, Slight Eldritch Cecil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:25:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 48,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5042866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyRose11/pseuds/FairyRose11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil is bored with life. He's bored with his same old house and his same old things... and come to think of it, it's a bit weird that he can't remember the last time he left his house, isn't it? Still, everything starts to seem a little better when he meets a handsome scientist from another world... who is unfortunately on the other side of Cecil's living room mirror, but no relationship is perfect, right? </p>
<p>Now, if he can just figure out the strange lights and the voices warning him that something is coming for him... or that it's been there all along...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet and Greet

“Our home is where our heart is. Remember that. Whenever you feel alone, you may return to that cavern of blood and organ tissue from whence you came. You will always have a home in the chest of a greater being-- wait a second. Sorry, this metaphor is starting to sound too much like Doctor Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog. Um, give me a minute--”

**  
**

This is embarrassing. I don’t usually slip up like this. Ah well, the more mistakes you make, the more chances that guy you always felt bad for has for usurping your position, and taking everything you hold dear, right? Look out for others before yourself. Be a good person. Something like that.

**  
**

I sigh, and look down at my microphone morosely. Good thing I’m not doing a live show. It’s been awhile since I’ve done live shows.

**  
**

My cat, Khoshekh, is reminding me that he wants to be fed. He does this by leaning against my ear and roaring. Just a minute, kitty, just a minute. I want to finish this.

**  
**

Though I’m not really sure what I’ll talk about. Not the news, not anymore. I don’t…. well I haven’t gotten out in a while. How long has it been, anyway? I think the last time I left the house was…..

**  
**

…..

**  
**

Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m happy. I’m keeping a positive outlook! And my dear niece Janice will visit soon and tell me about all of the stuff outside I’m missing. In the meantime, I’ve still got my radio show.

**  
**

I know not many people listen to it any more. I guess I can’t blame them, since I just post new instalments on my tumblr, and there hasn’t been anything too exciting to discuss lately. Last time I spoke for half an hour about the spiders on the wall. I hope nobody was too bored by that.

**  
**

It’s kind of stuffy in here. This house, it’s always too cold or too hot. One of these days, I am going to do something about it.

**  
**

I head towards the kitchen, Khoshekh at my heals. Wow, I can’t believe how big he’s gotten. I also can’t believe he’s left my bathroom, it’s his favorite part of the house. I was starting to wonder if it was even possible for him to leave.

**  
**

There’s a picture of my sister Abby, Janice and me up on my wall. Just above the stove. It’s from Janice’s ninth birthday. She is proudly holding up my gift (a tape-recorder) to the camera. I let myself gloat about this every time I look at the photo. That and the fact that my jerk brother- in- law isn’t in it.

**  
**

(Abby is constantly telling me to stop calling him that, and he’s really a good stepfather. I don’t care. He’s a conspiracy-theorist jerk. And his scones are horrible).

**  
**

I give Khoshekh his food and make myself a cup of coffee. Just like normal, then.

**  
**

What I do over the next couple of days: I watch an episode of Hannibal. I finish my latest wood carving (a transcendental butterfly, freshly killed and pinned to someone’s t-shirt). I sit in my favorite chair, and decide that if something completely unexpected doesn’t happen soon, I will calmly and with great dignity have a nervous breakdown.

**  
**

Nothing happens. I prepare to start chopping up my walls and gnawing my own hands or whatever you’re supposed to do when you go insane (Memo: do more research on this) when I hear a voice.

**  
**

“It appears to be a fairly standard living room,” the voice is saying. It’s a nice voice. Male, I think. Kind of oaky.

**  
**

I stride into said living room. Weird. I don’t see… oh!

**  
**

There’s a man in my mirror. There is a man in a lab coat in my mirror. There is an extremely handsome man with the most perfect hair I’ve ever seen in my mirror.

**  
**

He gazes back at me in astonishment. Then he grins in delight. “Oh, this is great. This is so awesome! Hey everyone, there’s a man here! I’m talking to a man from another world!”

**  
**

Well, I am glad that I can be the source of his excitement. He looks so happy that I smile in return. “Um….neat?”

**  
**

Ugh. It has been way too long since I’ve talked to a handsome stranger. Who says neat? Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to care. “So we’ve got a standard issue, 49 X 16 inch mirror on our end. Nothing fancy, except of course for the fact that none of the materials are identifiable, and in fact don’t seem to be from Earth at all. What do you have? Or wait, WAIT. Are you… in the the mirror? Because then I’ll have to calculate the dimensions and figure out how a relatively normal human could be living inside a supposedly flat space…. and are those tentacles?”

**  
**

He stops talking for a moment and gazes at me. I must say, I could get used to this. Other people in white lab coats gather behind him, though none of them look nearly of excited. Actually, they’re all staring with their mouths gaping cartoonishly.

**  
**

“I’m not in the mirror,” I assure him. “I am in my house, talking to you through a glass that…” I give it a quick once over “... pretty much fits your description. And yes, they are tentacles.”

**  
**

I will not sound defensive. I refuse to sound defensive. It’s not like I don’t have arms or anything weird like that. I just happen to have tentacles growing below them, just out of my sides. I’ve seen things that are much more bizarre.

**  
**

One of the other scientists (are they scientists? They look like scientists) stares at me. He doesn’t look as awestruck as the beautiful one. I decide that I will dislike him immensely.

**  
**

“You have a third eye,” he whispers.

**  
**

“Yes I do,” I inform him, starting to feel a little confused about why these people are pointing out obvious facts about me.

**  
**

The beautiful one (wow, he just looks more amazing as I gallantly attempt not to stare and blush awkwardly) steps forward, so he’s eye to eye with me. Except for my third eye, that is eye to forehead, but oh well.

**  
**

“What’s your name?” he asks me.

**  
**

“Cecil Gershwin Palmer,” I reply, almost tripping over my own syllables. Ugh, could I get anymore embarrassing?

**  
**

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Cecil! I’m Carlos. I’m a scientist. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

**  
**

And Carlos smiles, and all is perfect, and I fall in love instantly.

**  
**

*

**  
**

06/15/12

**  
**

A Scientist’s Log

**  
**

Today, I met a man from another world! Well, I think he’s from another world. He probably is. As a scientist, I really shouldn’t be saying these things until I am certain, so I will note that he is likely from a dimension parallel to my own and leave it at that until I can make further inferences.

**  
**

His name is Cecil. He has tentacles and three eyes. I’m wondering what those are for? Like, is he a parallel species, or a subspecies of humans, and if so, why does he need tentacles? Is he partly amphibious? I should have asked him! Why didn’t I ask him?

**  
**

Ah well, I’ll ask him next time. I think we’re going to be talking a lot. :-)

**  
**

I realize that the smiley face gives the wrong impression. We will not be talking for personal reasons. It will be purely scientific. Of course.

**  
**

Buying a full-length mirror for my lab so I could examine the effects of highly corrosive acid on glass? Best decision ever! (And a good thing I didn’t buy the acids yet.) (Admittedly, that wasn’t even for anything important. I was just curious to see what would happen.)

**  
**

Until the next scientific accomplishment.

*

**THE LIGHT, AND THE HORRIBLE HEAT**

Run. This, I think, is the most important thing. Ignore the screaming in my head. Pretend the light doesn’t still burn my eyes, even after all this time.

**  
**

It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? I don’t know. I thought I would be used to the burn by now. But I miss the darkness. If I ever escape from this place, I will go find a dark room and sit inside it and just enjoy the shadows. I never thought about how beautiful shadows are before this.

**  
**

I will tell my mother and brother….

**  
**

I think it’s found me.

**  
**

I have to go. I’m always going. I wish I could go far enough to escape the light. But perhaps that’s just wishful thinking.

**  
**

I may be lost forever, but I’ve seen the next one. He is not too far gone. If I can, I will save him.

**  
**

No, not if. When.

**  
**

No, if.

**  
**

First I have to hide.

*

Ladies and gentlemen, life is looking up!

**  
**

Carlos has been back to visit me almost every day. Mostly, he just asks me questions about my life, my dietary habits, whether or not I can breathe underwater… which, I must say, is a little ridiculous. Why would he think that?

**  
**

All well, I’m not going to judge. He’s always so polite and grateful. As if I am doing him a favor. Not that I’ve told him it’s the other way around… that would just be embarrassing.

**  
**

I called up my sister Abby and informed her that she doesn’t have to tilt her head sympathetically and ask if I would like her to set me up on a blind date (with and actual blind man, as for some reason the guy she set me up with last time turned pale and ran away). I’ve met someone! A very beautiful someone, with luxurious hair and perfect of smile and teeth.

**  
**

Admittedly, he has said that this will be a professional relationship. I understand that he is studying me. Personally, I find it rather flattering. And it means will have lots of time to talk. **A lot of time.**

**  
**

This is without a doubt, the best thing that’s happened all month.

**  
**

Honestly, for the first time in…. I don’t know how long it’s been exactly…. I feel as if I have something to look forward to. I feel more energized than I’ve been in ages, almost _electric._

**  
**

It’s still a little too warm in my house, and mysterious lights still shine behind my eyelids while I try to sleep, but other than that everything is just great.

*

**  
**

**The Light, and the Horrible Heat**

**  
**

I can see him. Something has changed. He’s further from us. Further from it.

**  
**

Whatever force has anchored him, thank you. You’ve given me time.

**  
**

Of course, time is merely a construct in the minds of people who can afford to do things other than run and die slowly, absorbed into a creature far greater and lesser than yourself.

**  
**

But for him, time still exists.

**  
**

So I’m going to try to get through. I do hope this works. If it does not…. I did try. I will have tried, past tense. But it’s future now. Stick with the future.

**  
**

It never gets cold here. I miss the cold. I miss my family.

**  
**

Brave now. I must be brave. I am brave.

**  
**

Former radio intern. Former daughter and sister. Former person.

 **  
**Not for much longer. I don’t know which will go, the former, or the person, but either way, I will change. **I will change.**


	2. First Date (or, Scientific Study)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos begins his research, and Cecil tries not to squeel with glee. Oh, and in a strange otherworld someone attempts a message.

 

Carlos is back!!

 

I allow myself a few seconds of total glee, then compose my face into a calm and friendly expression. Calm, Cecil, calm. It’s not that difficult.

(Okay, it is, but I think I manage it).

 

“Hello,” I say in what I am fairly sure is a neutral tone of voice. “It’s a pleasure to see you again! Um, where would you like me to stand?”

 

“Just there is fine. I like your ascot!”

“Thanks,” I say, beaming. Even though the ascot’s a boring combination of lavender and plaid, (with a few red polka dots in the corners) so I’m sure he’s just being nice. I did knit it myself, so I feel that I am entitled to some smugness.

“So…. how do we begin?”

“Well, since I can’t actually take a DNA test or get any other sample--which I wouldn’t get in any case without your permission, of course! Anyway, this is going to have to be a narrative analysis. Although I will be examining the mirror, its properties, physical and transdimensional, but for now I’m focusing on you. So Cecil,” he begins, pulling out a notebook and pen (I didn’t even know people still used pens!) and giving me a smile that makes it hard to keep my promise to stay calm, “Tell me about yourself.”

I am not really sure how to begin. “I’m thirty-five years old,” I starts hesitantly. “I have a cat named Khoshekh, a sister named Abby, and a wonderful niece named Janice, and an asshole brother-in-law, but I want this to be a pleasant conversation, so I’ll leave Steve Carlsberg out of it.”

Carlos nods, though he isn’t writing any of it down. Probably not sciency enough. “I ah…. I really don’t want to be rude, how personal are you comfortable with?”

“Anything is fine,” I assure him, wondering if I will regret this. What kinds of questions will he ask? I don’t think I have any horrible secrets that I wouldn’t want him to know, but I have been pretty out of touch lately, so maybe there is something horrible and I just _believe_ it’s perfectly normal. I mean, that stuff’s all relative, right? What would constitute as a terrible secret in Carlos’ world?

“Does the rest of your family… or the rest of the people in your universe actually, do they have third eyes? Or four eyes? Or more! And what about--”

Oh good, this one’s easy to answer. “My sister has three eyes as well,” I assure him. “Although hers is more of a green- gold.”

“And yours are a lovely shade of purple!” he tells me earnestly. I think I’m blushing. Feeling your face suddenly grow incredibly warm and your head start to throb painfully while dots of light dance merrily in front of your eyes is usually an indicator of bashfulness, isn’t it? I think I might have a fever, so it’s a little hard to tell.

“What about the rest of the… I don’t exactly know what to call you. Do you call yourselves humans? Because my species generally refer to themselves as human, and physically, we appear to be fairly similar, although I can’t really be sure without comparing our DNA and tissue samples.”  

Carlos sighs. “If only I was over there. There are so many tests I could run!”

I just manage to prevent myself from saying that he can study me in any way that he likes. **Any way.**

“We do call ourselves humans… I’m not quite sure it means the same thing you think it means. Here, ‘human’ is just a kind of label, you know, what binds us together as fellow bipedal creatures. Like, it’s what we have in common, not what we are.”

Carlos does write this down. “...and the multiple eyes? Tentacles? Are things like that common?”

Okay, be delicate, Cecil. He’s from another world. He doesn’t know how this works. He doesn’t have to know what it means that I… look like this.

Why I stopped trying to meet new people. I just...I just got tired with the way they stared at me.

He does not have to know any of this. Keep the conversation positive, that’s what I was going to do! Carlos does not even seem fazed by the tentacles, if fascinated glee counts as remaining unfazed.

“My particular appearance is uncommon, but things like it in general--” I flail my hand awkwardly, not sure how to explain. “Multiple eyes, several pairs of arms, wings, second heads--”

“Second heads?”

“Yes. Am I right in assuming that you don’t have any of those things?”

“No,” he says, writing furiously. “No, we do not. This is just…. I’m sorry, just! All the implications behind it! Mutations, human DNA spliced with… birds? Extraterrestrial ancestry! This is all... “

He is smiling more brightly than ever. Of course, his teeth are perfect. “What about you?” I ask, partially to be polite, am partially because I’m curious. I might be technically retired, but I’m still a reporter at heart! I can’t not ask people for their statements.

Carlos’ smile dips, just a little. I am instantly horrified at having caused this atrocity. “Oh, I’m nothing special! Just a scientist.”

And modest, too. “Just a scientist? I happen to think that that is very special,” I tell him sincerely. “I mean, you’re…” I scramble to think of an example of what scientists do. Something with beakers, right? I always though there were beakers. Are there liquids in the beakers, or are the beakers themselves the experiment? “You did just discover an interdimensional window into my universe from your own.”

Carlos blushes. It’s adorable. “Well… admittedly… that was kind of an accident. Not to undermine what I do. I have managed- let’s see, a few hundred? something like that- successful experiments that were intentional, so I’m not trying to make it sound like I’ve never done anything. That would be ridiculous! We’re all doing things, every day. Each action, no matter how infinitesimal it might seem, alters the world. It might be as simple as a word, a step forward, a thought that leads to another thought that leads to a discovery.”

He pauses. “It’s all so incredible Cecil,” and his voice is awed. “How every tiny piece of my universe, and yours presumably, all fit together. That’s what I study. The individual pieces and how they connect to form this great whole that extends beyond the bounds of human comprehension. You, me, on a large scale we mean nothing, but we exist, and that’s what’s so amazing!”

And I understand. I do.

“Uh, I hope you didn’t mind the speech--”

“No. Thank you, Carlos. You can tell me your views on anything, anytime.”

He is grinning again, so therefore I am delighted. “Well then. Can you tell me about the physical properties of your--assuming you have them--oceans, forests….”

“Well, I live in the desert, so that might be a bit of a problem. But I did visit a lovely old forest when I was backpacking through Europe after college…”

*

**The Light (still terrible heat, but we’ll leave that part to your imagination now)**

I am going to attempt a visitation.

No.

That makes me sound too much like an errant ghost. I will attempt to make contact!

Still doesn’t sound quite right….

No matter. I’m going to speak to him. I do not know if he will able to perceive me. I do not know if I will be able to perceive his assumed responses. But I must try.

If I am entirely honest (and I do believe in being honest with oneself, because if you are not honest with yourself, then you become a lie) I must admit that this is not all for him. I am not like the man with the dead eyes. I am still me. I can still escape.

I am not the only one who believes in the possibility of freedom. There are others… but I am afraid to even think their names. It might be able to sense them. In truth, none of us know how much it can sense. How well it knows us.

Some are lost forever, or at least so consumed that they have become a part of what imprisoned us here.

Others are still fighting. Not me; I am still afraid. I am not brave, like the one who stood with her book and her knife and dared the creature to come to her.

(She is captured now, but I do not think she is consumed. If I was stronger, I would try to rescue her.)

There is another person. He has his own looking glass, but he is blocked from us. He is, impossibly, protected. Perhaps I can meet him, through Cecil. Perhaps I can help him end this.

(End what, I wonder? Our confinement? Our misery? Our fear? Our last remaining will to survive, which is its own burden?)

I can’t say. Nothing is certain, anymore. The universe is made of void rather than earth, so I am always falling through the insubstantial nothingness.

*

There is a girl in my dreams. That’s a new one.

At first, I am rather irritated with her. She interrupted my vision of Perfect Carlos leaning against a window, light framing his face, one hand in his perfect hair, and the other hand beckoning me to…

Well. Anyway. The girl is young, perhaps no older than eighteen. She is small, but stands strong and resolute (I’m a reporter. I pride myself on my ability to read body language with great skill and accuracy).

“Cecil,” she says. “Can you hear me? Is this working?”

“Is what working?”

“The astral projection. Well, not technically astral projection, as I do not technically have a body… but never mind! Cecil, there’s something inside your mirror that--”

“Yes I know, there’s something inside my mirror. And actually, he’s on the other side of an identical mirror. It’s complicated.”

“I don’t mean him! Cecil, I was like you. I had a mirror of my own. Little by little, I lost myself to the mirror, just as you are now. There are monsters, Cecil. True beings of darkness--no, not darkness. Blood. They create themselves from blood and pain. You have to know--”

And then the girl vanishes, replaced by a strange man. He is not tall, or short. He is not thin or fat. He looks… wow, this is one weird dream! He look almost exactly like, well, me.

Except for his eyes. I glance once at his eyes, and I don’t want to see them again. I feel suddenly ill.

But I’ve been ill, haven’t I? These past few weeks, I’ve had headaches, fevers, chills….

What the girl said is oddly difficult to hold on to, but I try to grasp at the information. If I could just make it fit, I’m sure there’s something…

“Ignore her,” the man who is not me says. Here is a difference: we do not have the same voice at all. His is higher, and lighter, and sounds, in my professional opinion, a little unbalanced. “Don’t be afraid, Cecil. Embrace it. Embrace the light. It won’t hurt you! It will fill you with joy!

“You will never be able to stop smiling. Your happiness, and your usefulness, will increase until you are left with a grin that never fades! And the beautiful, comforting light will make you feel right at home.”

*

**The Caged One**

_No one is coming for me. I exist in the core of the monster, and I am alone and yet always watched._

_It doesn’t matter. It’s trapped me, for now, but I won’t let myself fall._

__

_1984? Winston Smith? Please. A novel with a decent plot and expressive language, but a weak narrator. If this is Big Brother, the real Big Brother, the concept given flesh, then I will not allow myself to worship it. As if!_

__

_I don’t care if it’s hearing this. Can you understand me, oppressor? I will escape, and I will annihilate you._

__

_In books, it’s never a good idea to reveal your plans to the enemy. I’ve gotten frustrated with protagonists, yelled at them, thrown the books away in irritation (only to pick them up again later, because no matter what, you always have to finish the story). In book, it’s usually a good idea to pretend you have been defeated, get the villain to lower their guard._

__

_But this is not one of my novels. And I don’t think I was a convincing puppet. So my new plan:_

__

_Don’t give in._

__

_Pretend that I am never afraid, because pretending allows you to construct reality as you would prefer it._

__

_Don’t ever, ever look directly at the light._

*

What a lovely day! What a perfect day in which everything in the world is aligned, birds are singing (much more melodically than their usual screeches intended to demonstrate the abject despair of reality), and I have another date with Carlos.

Okay, so it’s not exactly a date. An interview. Whatever. It’s still talking to him. And I am making myself a nutritious fruit salad to share with him. I instructed Carlos at the end of our time together yesterday to bring a fruit salad as well, so we could eat companionably together.

As I get up, my head throbs. Jeez, another headache? Mornings have never been fun, but it’s been getting more and more difficult lately to get myself out of bed. I just don’t seem to have any energy, which is a little weird, considering I don’t work, don’t go to parties, and in fact have barely left my house in…

Whatever. Despite my fatigue, I feel wonderful!

I pick up Khoshekh (not any easy thing to do--this kitty’s about three feet tall now, and don’t get me started on his weight) and head towards the kitchen. A cup of coffee, or three cups, ought to wake me up.

Cecil a voice says. A female-sounding voice. And unless I am wrong, she sounds desperate.

I stop. I look around. I glance in my hall mirror, and then go to check my other mirrors before remembering that right, I don’t have any other mirrors. My mother had some thing about them, I don’t recall it now. I’ve usually just taken pictures of myself instead.

It doesn’t matter. I am alone.

The tone was familiar. Have I heard it before--

A dream. A girl, a warning. A man who made me uncomfortable, because

Because

 **  
** What was I thinking of again?


	3. Talking, and vague yet meaningful gazes

A Scientist’s Log

07/1/12

Cecil and I discussed the effects of the water mutating people’s DNA, causing them to display these fascinating conditions. Not sure how substantial this hypothesis is (I’ve started saying hypothesis instead of theory, it sounds more scientific).

Sigh. I wish I could be over there. Cecil’s universe seems so interesting! Not that my own dear planet isn’t filled with its own mysteries, but I don’t know…. everything’s been done. We know too much, or we assume we know too much. Like, nobody cares if trees have race memory and partial sentience, as long as we know how they grow and what their waste production does for the atmosphere. If people understand part of something, they don’t care about understanding all of it. Or they assume that all the information gleaned before is real.

I never assume anything. I always walk into a situation with little to no idea what I am doing, or what might happen. The future is so uncertain, there is no point in contemplating it.

I don’t think Cecil gets science, but he is a good listener. And a good talker. He has the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.

^ This was a purely scientific observation. Scientifically, his voice is imbued with several qualities which, when put together, become what the average human would describe, according to most aesthetic measurements, as beautiful.

Um. Anyway. Back to science!

*

“It’s all lie, listeners. What is it, you ask? Everything. By which I mean your washing machine. Your washing machine is right now plotting against you. You should replace it.”

I’m positive I used to be better at this. Oh well, guess I shouldn’t try to record a show right after my washing machine stole of of my socks for like the millionth time. Seriously, where do those socks go? It makes no sense.

I decide to give radio a break for a while. I’ll come back to it when I am not grinding my teeth in frustration and barely restraining myself from discipling my washing machine with the axe that I always keep handy in case of intruders.

Meanwhile, I could be reading! I had Janice bring me several books from the library (I know, I shouldn’t be encouraging my niece to put herself in such danger, but she was going anyway, and Abby always brings several pounds of raw meat to keep the librarians occupied) all having to do with different aspects of science.

I open one now. It is titled _You Thought The Moon Was Irrelevant? Well Have I Got a Surprise For You!_ The first line boldly proclaims that the moon, which I always kind of thought was just this pretty and somewhat menacing hole in the universe, actually controls our tides.

Wow. Who would have thought?

The page is a little blurry, which is weird because I’m wearing my glasses, and normally my third eye compensates for the human frailties of the other two. I ignore this and press on.

After about an hour (or half an hour. I mean, who really understands time? Especially when you’re trying to read) I put the book down gingerly. It’s not the same one I started awhile ago. This one is about the possible origins of life. Evolution, popping into existence fully formed yesterday with our heads filled with false memories, and all of us are actually bacteria in the body of a higher being. It’s fascinating stuff, don’t get me wrong but…

“It’s a little confusing,” I admit to Khoshekh. “Just a bit! Not so much that I wouldn’t be able to say, instigate an intelligent and witty conversation with a handsome scientist. I could totally do that! I definitely understand enough to impress Carlos… provided he doesn’t ask me any further questions, in which case I will have to admit that I am utterly clueless, and hope he forgives me.”

Khoshekh roars to convey his sympathy.

“Thanks Kitty,” I tell him, once my ears have stopped popping. “I could always tell him about being a radio host. I wonder if he has radios in his world?”

Khoshekh tilts his head and then raises his spines to show his disapproval. “Fine. Former radio host. It still counts. In my head.”

This conversation is leading me into thinking about things I would rather not think about. I decide to stop thinking about them. When in doubt, deny everything and drink to forget when you’re older, but for now don’t you let me catch you drinking, Cecil. I mean it. No alcohol. You are underage young man.

Yep, that’s what my mother always said to me. I miss her….

Denial. I would drink, but I’ve got another visit scheduled with Carlos soon, and I don’t want him to get a bad impression of me. I can be a little…. overenthusiastic when I’m drunk. Just a little. Hardly at all. Okay, between a little and hardly.

Carlos seems sweet and cheerful as always. Well, as sweet and cheerful as he’s been the last six times I talked to him (It was definitely six. I kept careful record.) which isn’t exactly an indicator of always, but still. Sweet and cheerful seem to be Carlos’ main mode of being. And curious. And very excited, to the point of waving his hands around and announcing “I am very excited by this!”

“So you mentioned you’ve been reading… what are books like in your universe? Oh, and libraries! I do love the library!”

I gape open-mouthed at him. Carlos’ smile falters. “Um, was it something I said?”

“You must be so brave,” I breathe. He stares at me, so I feel like we’re having some miscommunication here. “Assuming that your libraries are run by eldritch beasts that enjoy the taste of human flesh like mine are?”

Carlos blinks rapidly, and stammers for a moment before saying “No, they aren’t. Even remotely. Wow, so you have to fight for your life every time you go to the library?”

“Yes. Well, not me personally. I haven’t gone to the library in…. well it must have been less than five years, I remember reading a lovely volume on the metamorphosis of the soul that occurs just before violent death a while after my thirty-first birthday. My niece Janice mostly brings me books now, not that I read very much. It’s a guilty pleasure, nothing more!”

Carlos is frantically writing all of this on his clipboard. It’s a nice clipboard. It makes him look very professional. I think this might be the point of the clipboard.

“You mentioned your niece before. Are you two close?”

I smile fondly, thinking of Janice. “Yes. I try to be a good uncle. Whatever that means.”

“I’m sure you are,” Carlos says earnestly.

“What about you?” I am careful to not refer to any specific family members. Wouldn’t want to accidentally stir up painful memories.

It appears that this hasn’t actually worked, because Carlos’ eyes grow distant. “Oh, of course my parents, and I have an older brother and an older sister. I was the baby of the family.” He clears his throat. “We don’t uh, talk a whole lot. Nothing dramatic or anything. My siblings and I just… took different paths in life. We wanted different things. They didn’t get science at all, can you imagine?”

“No,” is how I answer, because this seems to be the answer he wants. Then to make things less awkward, I add “My sister’s older too. Older siblings, huh?”

He nods solemnly. “I couldn’t agree more.”

*

So that’s how our conversations stop being all about science and start being about anything from our daytime exploits (admittedly, for Carlos, that’s still mostly science) to “so, what’s your favorite species of carnivorous insect?”

Mine, for the record, will always be a praying mantis. How can you beat them?

Carlos’ aspiration don’t seem to go much further than “study it, and if I don’t know what it is, do experiments on it.” Which, in my opinion, is a very worthy goal! Carlos says he doesn’t care about things like “advancing in the scientific community” or “becoming renowned for my ideas” or anything like that. He just wants to do science!

I asked Carlos, out of sheer curiousity, if there was anything he liked beside science. He thought for a long moment before rattling off this list: helping people, fruit salad, mountains, Breaking Bad, oh, and conversations with me. I tried not to blush too much at the last one. I did ask him what a mountain was. He rattled off an explanation, and I must say, I’ve heard tales of such things before, but I’ve never actually believed them. I always thought they were a myth to frighten disobedient citizens.

Carlos’ teammates join him occasionally to ask questions. The annoying one I met earlier introduced himself as Stan and apologized for any rudeness. Another scientist, Nilanjana, keeps asking me about my childhood for some reason. Carlos tells me that she has been thinking of becoming a psychologist, so she has another set of scientific skills to add to her already numerous amount of scientific skills.

They’re very polite, but I prefer it when Carlos and I talk alone. Unfortunately, his teammates then accuse him of ridiculous things like “keeping this project all to himself” and “not getting any useful information other than his (my) favorite foods.”

Carlos claims that everything I say is interesting, since I am from a separate universe that appears to have many life forms never seen before (at least by him) as well as whole different set of rules and beliefs. He also found it interesting that we have many of the same TV shows, and wondered what was up with that.

Who knows? Sure, it’s weird to think of Walter White with only one head and no tail, but no weirder than the general strangeness that makes up existence.

*

A Scientist’s Log

07/15/12

I really should be writing in this more often. So much has been happening! Cecil and I have been talking almost every day. Which you know, is a lot more than I usually talk to people. It’s actually fairly abnormal for me to exchange more than a few words that don’t have to do with the team’s latest scientific experiment. As far as I know, nobody judges me for this, but they do occasionally roll their eyes in exasperation when I decline their invitations to take a night out in favor of studying the dead beetles I found in the walls of our lab to see if they died of natural causes or of unknown toxins.

I would think that everyone would be grateful if I discovered a gas leak, therefore saving all of our lives! (There was no gas leak, but the thought totally counts.)

Anyway, back to Cecil. So we’ve been talking a lot, only part of it scientific. I should really try to steer the conversation back to science. Normally that’s all I’m interested in, but, well. It’s… well I certainly wouldn’t call it fun to talk about something other than science…. but it is kind of fun to discuss non-sciency things with Cecil. I like listening to him talk. Like I said, most beautiful voice… okay, I don’t have to repeat myself.

Oh! I’ve been trying to come up with some jokes to impress… why did I write that word? I am definitely not trying to impress him! This is still a professional relationship.

That being said, he mentioned that he liked jokes, and I just heard some hilarious ones. I’ll try them out here.

So one house says to the other house, “House it going?” and the other house says “Why are you talking? Houses do not have sentience, and therefore… wait a second, why am I talking?” “You’re not,” the other house says “You’re just the owner of the house talking to the owner of this house and we’re pretending to embody our homes in order to make our meaningless lives more interesting.” “Oh okay,” the other house says. And that’s my joke. I couldn’t stop laughing when I first heard it!

In between my chats with Cecil, I’ve been doing lots of other experiments to keep myself occupied. Just yesterday, I took blood samples from everyone on the team and plan to compare them to Cecil’s when I figure out how to cross over into his world. Which I guess was less of an experiment and more planning for a future experiment, but it involved capsules and writing stuff on a clipboard, so I say that it counts. I’ve also been trying to learn more about this mirror. It’s been difficult to examine it, because I don’t want to scratch it or break it or do anything that could make me lose the connection with Cecil. So mainly I’ve just been staring at it through a magnifying glass, holding up other materials next to it, shaking my head and saying “hmmm” a lot.

In other news, I have a bit of a headache. Plus, I think I’m on the verge of a fever. I had to start wearing tank tops under by lab coats. I don’t plan to worry, it’ll pass. I’ll be fine. A scientist is always fine, that’s my motto. It’s been my motto since I was ten years old and my brother was making fun of me for carrying a magnifying glass and wearing a lab coat everywhere, and I told myself that I totally didn’t care, that I was absolutely fine, because scientists were always fine, and anyway that’s when it became my favorite saying.

So. Er. Gee, it’s hard to fill a few pages. I’m used to writing up lab reports, not scientific journal entries. I suppose I could list all of the new things I learned since last weekend, and all of the interesting things that I want to learn about so I can decide if they’re actually interesting or I just projected my own enthusiasm on to them.

Yes, I’ll talk about that.

*

I haven’t been sleeping well. This is irritating.

I would assume that it has to do with all of the coffee that I drink in order to keep myself semi-functional throughout the day, but I don’t know…

Abby wants me to see a doctor. I told her that I am just fine, thank you very much. I certainly don’t need to see someone who will just through a bunch of sleeping-so-you-may-travel-through-dreams-and-find-the-cause-of-your-illness-yourself-so-I-don’t-have-to-do-any-work pills at me.

And if my hands started shaking earlier when I was making breakfast? Totally not worth mentioning. I’m sure I was just hungry. It happens. The fact that they did not stop shaking for over an hour proves nothing.

**  
  
  
**

It’s just Carlos today. Perfect. He is wearing what he calls “his casual lab coat” and is holding a magnifying glass.

I obligingly let him examine my eyes, tentacles, and skin as closely as he can. “Physically,” he says, “We still appear to very similar. I have a few ideas as to why that is, but none of them are certainties, and I don’t like to tell people my theories out loud unless I’m certain. Although I suppose there’s still the possibility that none of this is actually real, but if you go around with that attitude, you’ll never get anything done.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

There’s a bit of an awkward pause while we each try to think of something to say. “Oh!” Carlos exclaims. “I have a joke to tell you!”

He tells it. I admit, it’s…. a little confusing. But I appreciate his effort. Not everyone can tell funny jokes. In this case, Carlos’ joke is mildly funny in that it makes perfect sense, and everyone knows that jokes are not supposed to make sense.

“....so, you mentioned you work in radio?”

“Yes. Well, worked. Until recently I worked in radio. I still record myself talking, it’s just that I usually post it online and not many people listen to it.” I am mentally beating my head against the table for telling him this (seriously Cecil, just shut up!) but there’s something about Carlos that makes it difficult to lie. I think it’s his perfect hair.

Carlos looks like he wants to ask about why this is. He opens his mouth, and then shuts it again. I have a feeling he thinks that it would be rude to press me, so he is going against every instinct he has in order to preserve my feelings.

Awwww. That’s so sweet!

“Um, Cecil?”

“Yes?”

“....are you married?”

I try to hide my glee. He wants to know if I’m single! “Nope. Not married. Not even dating. I haven’t for a while. Well, that isn’t to say I haven’t had many wonderful relationships throughout my life. I mean, not many. But some. They were all perfectly nice men, but we went our separate ways, and that was that. You know.”

“Of course,” he says, looking as if he does not know at all.

Pause.

Pause.

“Are you married?” Pleasesaynopleasesayno--

“No. Single. I don’t, um, really do relationships. I mean, I do relationships…. this isn’t coming out right.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him, holding up my hands and tentacles so he knows I am being sincere.

“So do you--”

_He’s not real, Cecil._

What?

_He’s only a man. He’s not your God._

What?

_He’ll care for you while you’re interesting. The Great One, he will love you for all eternity. He already loves you. He loves you, Cecil. He is the home you’ve always wanted, the gentle friend by your side, the hand that brushes the tears from your cheek._

“Cecil,” Carlos says, no, not Carlos, wait, is it Carlos I don’t understand

And now I’m on the floor. That was an unexpected development. Hello rug, I never noticed how lovely you are.

“Cecil! Are you okay?!”

_He’s lying_ the girl tells me. _Well no, he is telling the truth as he sees it, but his truth is not your truth, so it may as well be a lie. Don’t let him in._

“Uhhhh,” is my response to all of this. I try to raise my head, and am immediately dizzy. My limbs all flop uselessly, which is irritating, because with six different appendages I am used to at least one being available to help me up.

Hearing voices. This normally wouldn’t bother me, as I am used to picking up the occasional misdirected telepathic wave intended for someone in my general vicinity. Admittedly, such a message has never been directed at me before, and certainly not with such volume.

“I’m okay,” I manage after a few moments. Carlos lets out an audible sigh of relief. “I just heard a man and a woman, or what I presume to be a man and a woman, speaking in my head.”

Carlos’ entire face arranges itself into an expression that typically means What? and Holy crap.

“You have telepathy? Is it universal? How does it--”

And then he stops. And he frowns. And he says “Cecil… are you really all right? You look frightened. What did the voices say?”

I hesitate. In truth, I can hardly remember what they said. I’ve been going over and over their messages, and the words have already faded. I only have the general meaning, something about Carlos, and a god, and lying. I do know how it makes me feel.

There’s a cold spot in the middle of my chest, and it’s slowly spreading. I am aware of my body, in the way that we usually are not unless we are afraid for it. I am aware of my mind, conscious of itself and its failings.

Fear is normal. It exists because we have no control over our own reality. The world isn’t out to get us, because that would be ridiculous, assuming that our earth holds such emotion. Everyone knows that we live in the ribcage of the great skeleton that is left over from the old days when the planets battled each other for control over the universe. Where would we be now if Mercury hadn’t won and generously placed earth into a comatose state so that life could develop on her back?

My point is, we can’t stop people or places or things from harming us. What is truly alarming is when we no longer have control over ourselves, because what are we then but sentient bags of meat and bones floating through a matterless existence?

Or this could just be me being melodramatic, and all of this will clear up in a couple of days. It might be practical joke. It’s probably a practical joke, because kids these days.

“I am totally fine,” I inform him, hoping that he will not see how my shoulders are trembling.

Carlos is a scientist. I am fairly certain that he notices. “I will take your word for it.” He leans forward and touches the glass. “Imagine that I am helping you stand, okay?” A corner of his mouth curves up, and I lurch forward.

“Thanks. For the assistance. I appreciate it.”

“I appreciate that you appreciate it.”

 **  
** We share a glance. And my dear, nonexistent listeners, the magnitude of that glance and the thrill it sends through me is enough to drive away any worries that I might have.


	4. Interlude

I don’t remember when I began to lose myself. It happened in moments, where I would forget things, and remember others. The things that I remembered where not real, or they were, and even now I am misremembering.

But I think they were false, those days where I would sit back and enjoy my conversations with the Smiling God. We did speak. The Smiling God is not beautiful, or gentle, like in my memories of it. It no longer tells me that I am special, that I am chosen.

“Dana,” it would or wouldn’t say, “You deserve so much more. I want to take care of you. Please let me do that.”

Looking back at this conversation now, I think that I wasn’t speaking to the god directly. It was the man with the black eyes (I think his eyes are black, or he doesn’t have them). The one who looks like Cecil, the latest in a line that seems to stretch on, and on.

It’s confusing, how similar they are. I wonder why. I wonder if Cecil is important. I wonder if Kevin was the first victim, or if he’s working with the Smiling God. I wonder if they know where I am now. I wonder where I am. Nothing is clear anymore. Perhaps nothing ever was.

I used to think that I’d been taken to this world inside the mirrors, or in dreams, or light. I’m not sure, I just thought it was somewhere different from the universe I know.

It was comforting, believing that. It was safe, because it meant that I had somewhere to go back to.

Now, I am afraid that--

I shouldn’t say it. I shouldn’t even think it.

There are so many people here. When I arrived, I was alone. Or maybe I wasn’t. There were shadows, the silhouettes of people or person-shaped holes in the air where a human should be, or was in a different reality than myself.

Now…

I’m hiding behind a pyre, burning on top of nothing, something that theoretically should not be here, but theoretically neither should I. Are these flames real? If so, would that mean that this world is real? That I am real? It’s all so confusing. It was confusing before the Smiling God devoured me. But it was not as important.

Sshhh, Dana. I hear a voice. I crouch down.

“Cardinal?” a woman says. Her voice is bright, cheerful. I know her. I hate to say this about people, but she is a lost cause. She enjoys her brainwashed state far too much, to a degree that frightens me. I suppose I am being judgemental. But either or, I will not go anywhere with her. She’ll take me straight to It. If it is not already monitoring my every motion.

I’m still unsure about that.

“Dana? Come on Sweetie, I know you’re scared. It’s a big change for such a gentle, young, breakable girl. But you’ve been here for ages, Dana. You really should have adjusted by now. I don’t mean to be harsh. I’m just saying that I’m here to help you get acclimated. Feel comfortable.”

She is coming closer. I begin to consider my chances: flee, or knock her unconscious with this charred brick, as I was taught to do in elementary school.

My kindergarten teacher would probably be ashamed of my behavior so far. “Hiding like that frightened tarantula that I ground to pieces for my breakfast this morning! I thought you were better than that, Dana.”

“Come on dear, you must be burning up in all this glorious, glorious light. Come with me, and that will absolutely not be followed by stronger and infinitely more painful burning that will-- You know what, I am losing my patience...” Lauren breaks off because I pick option two and hit her with the brick. She collapses immediately.

I hope I didn’t hurt her too badly. She was innocent once, after all. Presumably. But I can’t think about that.

My mind is my own. I don’t want that to change. So I run, again.

It’s too much, anyway. I was only eighteen when I was taken. What did I expect of myself? I am not a warrior. Not a scientist. I don’t know anything important. I reported on the uninteresting stories of my small town and dated a girl named Maureen and drove to the nearest bookstore an hour away so I wouldn’t have to brave the library.

I am not brave. But the thought of books sparks a thought, which leads to an idea, as thoughts often will.

I am not brave, but there is someone who is. Or is supposed to be. The legend. Tamika Flynn, the girl who loved reading, who fought back.

Who is imprisoned somewhere, very near or perhaps inside the Smiling God.

I can’t rescue her. I do not know how I would rescue her. I am too frightened to rescue her.

I stop. Because, I now admit to myself, I cannot run forever. It’s a postponement that will only lead to my capture. Then I will be forced to love my God (who may already live inside this entire world, and by extension inside me) or I will die, or I will be locked away like Tamika herself.

What do I decide?

I used to love my life, though I didn’t know it at the time. I want that life back.

Tamika is not my only chance. There is Cecil, who has proved more resistant than I thought he would be. There is the man from far away, who I see in little blinks and flashes, who seems to know so much. (But is it the right kind of knowledge?)

There must be others like me, who fight it. I am not alone. I must stop behaving as if I am. It is time for me to remind myself, that bravery….

Is still possible. And I walk, glancing around to make certain that there is no one to stop me, and I plan.


	5. A Visitor

I’m just putting the finishing touches on my “Congratulations for getting your scientific paper published!” mural for Carlos. I did consider baking a cake with this message inscribed in frosting and sprinkles, but then it occurred to me that he wouldn’t actually be able to eat it, and anyway I’ve been trying to cut down on sugar. So I just painted the words in varying rainbow combinations on some construction paper. I added pictures of DNA sequences, my approximation of the multiverse (with glitter tastefully applied in a couple of areas), Carlos’ face magnified, his perfect hair blowing in a presumed breeze, and some ancient hieroglyphics that I am 90% certain mean “congratulations.”

Okay, I’ll say it. I’m proud. I hope Carlos likes it.

There is a knock on the door, which I was not expecting. Only three people ever visit me, and my old friend Earl Harlan was off on vacation with his son last I heard, so that leave two options.

“Abby! Nice to see you. Where’s Janice?”

My sister gives me a hug. “What, am I no longer fun enough? I’m insulted, Cecil, really. Janice is with her dad.”

I scowl. I keep this expression in place when Abby lets go, so she can see my disdain. “He’s not actually her dad.”

“He is her stepfather, and a good one. How are you?”

Ordinally I get a much longer lecture on how great Steve is with Janice, how his ideas, while mildly ridiculous, are absolutely not going to “corrupt” my niece. Also, if I insult his scones one more time, she will force me to eat three of them, smile widely, and give Steve a thumbs up, or risk being de-inviting to Janice’s next birthday party. I decide not to press my luck now.

“Great, actually.” I show her my mural. She makes fun of my brush technique and subject matter in general, as per her duty as my older sister.

“Tell me,” she says abruptly. “How have you been feeling?”

“Er, fine.” It’s a lie. I have a headache right now, and the dizzy spells occur almost daily. I should do something about it, I know, but I just… I don’t want to. I don’t know why, I do not have an explanation except for this deep reluctance to visit anyone. Seeing the doctor would require driving across town, getting out of the car, sitting in the waiting room, and I… just won’t.

I sense that this answer will not satisfy Abby, but neither does my weak and transparent bluff. She hesitates, then mutters “No” before staring at me. Her third eye focuses on my face. It’s very difficult to stand up under the penetrating stare of her gelatinous orb, especially since it doesn’t need to blink nearly as much as the other two.

“Cecil--” She stops, and then starts again. “I--how’s Carlos?”

My sister is not usually one for abrupt subject changes, so this takes me a moment. Not my usual reaction time for all things Carlos related. “Oh, he’s wonderful! His scientific article based on his experiences with me is going to be featured in a journal, which I’m pretty sure is a big deal in his world. He was very gracious, saying that I really deserved more of the credit, and that he references my name several times.”

Will I sound too much like an eager child if I tell her about the way he gazed at me as he said thank you? (And yes, it was a gaze, I am calling it a gaze, it was _totally_ a gaze).

I don’t care. I tell her anyway. Abby gives me a pitying look. “I am not even going to tease you. No challenge. My baby brother’s in--” She frowns suddenly and breaks off. “That’s great, Cecil. I mean, it’s awesome that there’s someone… still, he’s in another dimension right?”

“Are you saying it won’t work?” I am prepared not to listen, even though I’ve thought this myself. Several times. And ignored myself, mostly through denial and some drinking to forget. He’s a scientist, and therefore, he will find a way for us to meet in person.

It occurs to me that I could be doing something to help on that front, but. Well. I wouldn’t have the first idea as to where to start.

“Nope. I’m saying that he’s in another dimension, so it will be difficult to murder him if he hurts you. Don’t worry, I’m a good big sister. If that happens, I’ll find a way to obliterate every particle of his existence somehow.”

Abby is much easier to deal with when she’s making fun of me, instead of staring blankly, eyes full of some strange and nameless fear. Of course, she’s also a lot more annoying when she is making fun of me, but you know, at least that I’m used to.

“We are both adults, fully capable of making our own decisions. And you’re not that much older than I am.”

“Seven years. And if that were true, then what about me and Steve?”

“Well, Steve Carlsberg.”

Abby chuckles, but there is something behind it. She glances at me again, swallowing. An impossible thought strikes me. I will not smile, or sound hopeful. I will not sound hopeful. “Is there something… about your relationship with Steve? Something you need to get off your chest? Because I’m here for you, and Janice, always have been, always will be.” Not too eager, Cecil.

“Steve and I are fine.”

Goddamnit.

It’s not that my brother-in-law is a bad person, or even, if I am being honest, a terrible father. He is just so _irritating_.

“Then why did you come over? Of course,” I add hastily, remembering Mom’s lessons on politeness and how a lack thereof can lead to the insulted party deciding to enact level two vengeance, which is worse than level one in that it involves a blood sacrifice and the rapid growth of warts in uncomfortable places, “I look forward to your visits. You and I haven’t really talked without Janice present since… since… well, it’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

Abby doesn’t answer. Which is unfortunate, because I am running out of relevant sentences. I attempt one more. “It does kind of seem like something’s on your mind. I was a reporter, you know.”

“You had a radio show.”

“During which I reported the news! Which did require interviews, so I can tell when someone is--”

“It’s okay, Cecil. Everything will be fine. It’ll be fine, I’m dealing with it.”

“Can I help--”

“NO!” Abby blinks, even her third eye, and takes in the surprise that is beginning to register on my face. “No, no, don’t worry yourself. Just… I love you, Cecil.” She does not look as me as she says it. Her gaze flits around the room, settling on the walls, then the ceiling, before going back to me. “I know we don’t agree on much. But, this house--”

Oh, not this argument again. It’s settled. I told her. But Abby grits her teeth, and cuts me off. This is starting to get frustrating. And confusing. “You don’t want to hear it, I get it. Just… take care of yourself, Cecil. That’s all you need to worry about. None of your big sister’s drama, all right? And yes, Janice is perfectly okay, nothing to do with her, she loves you too. We just want to make sure that you’re okay… which you obviously are. Because why wouldn’t you be, right?”

She hugs me again. “Oh, I forgot! I brought you some more bags of coffee! Silly me, where will my head get to next?”

She runs back to her car. I start after her, but wow, the sun is really bright, and hot. I stay inside. Abby comes back a moment later, smiling and handing me my groceries. “See you again soon?”

“Um, sure. It would be nice to see Janice… or the two of us could just, uh hang out? Is hang out what kids call it these days?”

“Pretty sure. And don’t play the old man card with me. You’re not the one who’s over forty.” She has begun shifting her weight from side to side, shuffling her feet nervously. I decide to give her a break, since she obviously has something to get back to.

“Nice seeing you.”

“You too!” She adds “So long, baby brother” in the language of dance that we invented when we were children. I am astounded that she remembers it. I am also astounded that I remember how to translate it.

I watch her head down the driveway to her car. And it’s the strangest thing: for a moment, one moment, she staggers, her shoulders tremble, and I am sure that I hear a sob. Then Abby straightens, glances back, waves cheerfully, and gets in the driver’s seat.

I almost call after her. I would like a little clarification, for God’s sake.

But I don’t.

I sit back down, ready to add the final touches to my mural. I hesitate, for a moment. The details of my visit with Abby are already blurring, as memories do, though not… usually so quickly. I don’t think. I mean, I might be wrong.

Even so, I go over everything Abby said to me, once, twice, three times. I make up my mind to continue doing so for the rest of the day. I can’t formulate a decent answer, even to myself, as to why I feel I must do this.

 **  
**It just feels important.


	6. The Start of Something

A Scientist’s Log

 

9/15/12

 

I think I may be on the right track.

 

Oh, I’m sorry. I can see how that statement might be confusing. I mean, on the right track to crossing dimensions, therefore proving that multiverse theories are in fact correct, and getting to study every beautiful, fascinating particle of a world alien to my own.

 

And I can finally shake Cecil’s hand. We’ve known each other for three months, so I suppose that a handshake is no longer necessary, but I’m afraid that a hug might be too forward. Cecil does not seem like the sort of person who would mind, but I can’t be sure. 

 

I wonder what his skin feels like. How his voice will sound when I am in the same room as him. 

 

Oh for Einstein’s sake. I am extremely far gone, aren’t I? Past saving. 

 

I worry about him. He always has circles under his eyes, and last week he fainted in front of me. I called for help before I realized that neither I nor anyone on my team can help him. I stood there and waited for what seemed like hours but was actually just a couple of minutes, an ordinary phenomenon that I ran a lot of experiments on back when I was in high school. 

 

He woke up, and he smiled and told me that he was fine, and not to fret about him. How can I not fret? He lives all by himself. What if next time is worse, and he needs help? I cannot stand being so powerless. 

 

Um, to any future scientists who are reading this. Ignore the poor handwriting. My hand was trembling for a moment. It’s better now. 

 

So, my hypothesis: Firstly, we know that the mirror itself is somehow a connector, that it fuses together two realities that typically have a modicum of space between them. How do we know that there was supposed to be that gap in the first place? 

 

Intuition, mostly. It’s difficult to test something that you can’t sense in any way. Another experiment that I tried in high school. Anyway, we were able to run more tests on the mirror. Rachelle had the idea to examine the light refraction from the surface. She pointed out that what we had all initially assumed was a mirror didn’t really do any reflecting, instead functioning more like a webcam screen, and we should really start asking ourselves why that was. 

 

My response to this was “Hmmm, you have a point. Why didn’t we think of this earlier?”

 

She replied that I’d been too busy bonding with my--You know what, I will not replicate the exact words she used. I will only say that they were meant to ridicule, and I got a little embarrassed and reminded her that I could assign her to a different project any time. To which Rachelle laughed, and Stan called out, “Look, he’s blushing.” I suspect that they don’t respect my authority as much as they should, but I don’t have  time to deal with that right now. I have a wormhole to uncover.

 

Oh, I’ve gotten ahead of myself. Sorry about that. I’ll finish writing later. I have a meeting with--you know, I just have somewhere to be, and I don’t have to explain myself to my journal. Or to any future scientists reading this. To those future students of the great philosophy and occupation and lifestyle (plus basically everything in the known world) that is science, good luck.

 

We’ll get to the part about how I examined the light particles, muttering “hmmm” and “Oh wow” and “Oh  wow ” and I learned that the light was not being refracted, but was in fact  emanating  from the mirror (sorry, that should be visual contact device, but I am used to writing mirror). This did not seem possible at first, as there is no tangible power source that would allow the VCD (visual contact device) to generate its own light. Furthermore, the light emission was  massive , as were the heat emission levels, which did not seem to make sense, as the glass has only ever felt lukewarm. It was as if the VCD itself is a power source. Then it occurred to me that Cecil and I had only ever assumed that our conversations took place via two identical VCDs. 

 

What if only one mirror (argh, sorry) exists on both planes of reality? That the VCD is not merely a peephole, but in fact contains the wormhole within it, or the rather the  potential of a wormhole. If I treated it like a star, a font of energy, then theoretically I could collapse the VCD by removing that energy. It would then gain black hole-like properties, taking in matter and redistributing it on the other side, hopefully Cecil’s universe, hopefully in one piece. 

Oh. I guess that’s the entire hypothesis then. I got kind of carried away. Every time I think about the scientific implications, a grin breaks out on my face and I am filled with the desire to run and tell the nearest person what I’ve discovered. 

 

I should really go now. I mean it. I’ll be late if I don’t stop writing. 

 

Just… science. And physics, which is a category of science, something that future scientists reading this should probably know, otherwise you might not be cut out for this profession. Do not turn to your lab partner now and ask them what physics is. A scientist is self-reliant. 

 

How do I end this? Is “bye now” appropriate? It will have to work. 

 

Bye now. 

 

*

 

Carlos won’t stop beaming. I won’t stop beaming at his beaming. 

 

I am  _ so  _ glad that Abby isn’t here to see this. She would ruin the moment. “So you’ve found a way to come here?”

 

“A theoretical way, which is a scientific term meaning that I believe it  _ may  _ be possible, but I haven’t really proved it yet. Until then, you’re usually supposed to treat the situation as a probability rather than a likelihood, but you know what Cecil, I don’t care. This will happen. I will make it happen, because that’s what a scientist does.” 

 

His eyes twinkle. I scurry for a response, something that properly expresses my joy and excitement, how much I dearly look forward to meeting him in person, something along the lines of… “Neat!” 

 

Oh God, why? “Um, I mean, that is wonderful. Good luck. Anything I can do to help?”

 

“Not really. I’m not sure you have the proper equipment necessary on your end. Also, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, as the scientist, I’m more qualified to deal with whatever risks arise from this venture.”

 

“ _ Are  _ there risks?” 

 

Carlos takes a minute to think it over, which does not really improve my confidence levels. “Some, possibly, but again, that’s only a theory. In this case a theory that I plan to regard as  _ unlikely _ . Whatever happens, I’m sure I’ll be fine. A scientist is  _ always  _ fine, Cecil.” 

 

I wonder if I should attempt to talk him out of doing anything dangerous. How would I begin that conversation? Would he even listen? 

 

It’s possible that Carlos senses where my line of thinking has gone, because he immediately changes the subject. Which is not something he does very often when the subject is science. “So, what’s going on with you? I love your outfit, by the way.”

 

I beam. And here I’d worried that I was somewhat underdressed, in my violet poncho, paisley shorts with black tights underneath, and red high-heeled boots. Just goes to show you, fashion is not everything. “Thank you! And let me think… my sister visited the other day, but other than that, nothing new really…” 

 

Ugh, by this point, Carlos probably believes that I have no life whatsoever. In fairness, I don’t. Unless you count making wood carvings and various other artistic ventures, binge-watching via Netflix, and musing about the essence of thought. Like, what is the purpose of thought? Are all of our thoughts really words planted in our minds by the Great Beast of Reality, designed to lure us into a peaceful slumber? Who knows? I certainly don’t. 

 

Oh! I almost forgot! Jeez, bad memory must run in families. Or I’ve just been extra tired lately. I run and retrieve Carlos’ mural. I hold it up for him, shyly. He oohs and awwws over it, so that’s satisfying. 

 

“Carlos,” I ask him afterwards, “I am concerned that… it’s probably nothing…”

 

“Tell me,” he says instantly. I’m not sure what he thinks I am going to say. Maybe that the voices have returned. They haven’t. But I have been having nightmares, dreams of oppressive heat and shrieks filling the air. They all end the same way: as I gaze into a shape in the distance, it moves closer and closer, until I see that it is a colossal mouth, and the dry lips are pulled back into the widest smile I’ve ever seen. The smile opens to display rows of teeth, stained with blood and other human fluids, and a thin gray tongue that stretches toward me. I wake up just as the smile moves enough to say “Cecil” and my name is wonderful and hideous in its voice. 

 

Of course, nightmares are not legally real, according to the City Council, so I hopefully don’t have anything to fear. (I’m not sure how displeased the City Council would be if I told Carlos that I am, just the tiniest bit, only a little really, scared.) 

 

“My sister almost seemed as if she wanted to  _ hide  _ something from me. I can’t imagine what, but she was very odd. She acted almost as if I was--” I choke. Literally, I can’t say the words  _ in danger _ , and anyway they don’t seem accurate. I thought they did a moment ago, but that’s language for you, forever changing.

 

“I-- as if she wasn’t going to see me again. Like, not forever, not as if she thought I was  _ dying  _ or anything ridiculous like that, just as if it would be a while, and she wanted to reassure me of… you know, big sister...protectiveness.” It doesn’t help that I suddenly can’t recall why Abby’s behavior seemed so important. 

 

“Cecil,” Carlos mutters. I wait for him to finish. He does not. Perhaps my name is all he wanted to say. 

 

We stand there, not saying anything. Just looking, thoughts flitting through our heads, possibly resembling each other more than either of us know. 

 

I swallow. And I may only be seeing him through a layer of glass and the void between universes, but….

Well. And the moment ends, with both of us clearing our throats awkwardly and being like, “so” and “yeah.” But despite whatever is wrong with my mind, I will not let myself forget this so easily. 

 

“I don’t know your sister,” Carlos says finally, “So I’m not sure I am in a position to speculate about her intentions…”

 

“That’s okay.”

 

“But, speaking from experience as a younger sibling, I can say with a fair amount of scientific accuracy that older siblings do sometimes have a point… so the question is, if Abby thought that there was something wrong--not with you, of course! Just with, um, your situation or health, and uh, what I’m really trying to ask is, do you think that there’s something wrong?” He sounds quite earnest, and concerned.

 

I perform an internal dance of glee over this, before reminding myself that it’s a serious question, and no, nothing is really all right, but when is anything totally all right (even if this is a bit worse than the usual despair that is a part of every living creature’s life in order to balance out the endorphin injections that we are all given as children). 

 

Before I can answer, he adds hesitantly, “And… Cecil, I do apologize if this is a question that you would prefer not to answer, and really even though it’s my scientific duty to learn the answer to  _ most  _ things, it doesn’t have to be  _ everything _ , because that would honestly be kind of impractical. So don’t tell me if you don’t want to, but is there a reason that you never leave your house?”

 

I lean against the wall. 

 

It wasn’t like I thought that he’d never ask! I am not naive. I just… which is better? If I still had my radio show, I would ask this of my listeners: Should one bare the secrets of a depraved past and thus let the past consume the present and carve ritualistic symbols into the present’s skin to prevent the coming of a positive future, (or indeed any future as we are all exposed to the depths of our solitude in the midst of eternity) or is it better to allow others to see us how we prefer to be seen? 

 

This is where I would pause for someone to phone in with the answer. Usually, it would provide myself and all of my other listeners with some quiet reassurance, a sort of wisdom that could be used to tackle these sort of problems. Or nobody would call, and somehow, I would find my own answer, and I would share it with the world. 

 

But the only listener now is Carlos, and I do not want to lie to him. No matter how many times my sixth grade teacher assigned pop quizzes on the foundations of every solid relationship (which are: deceit, repression, bitterness, and carefully recorded tallies of each sin that your partner has committed). 

 

“I… it’s complicated. I mean, I could leave, at any time. It’s, um…” 

 

Carlos’ lovely brown eyes are wide with understanding. He doesn’t understand anything, but he is preparing himself to make the effort. I appreciate that. 

 

“I choose to stay here. I quit my job because station management and the other radio staff displayed a frankly admirable amount of dedication towards forcing me to leave. People also occasionally cringe upon seeing me in the streets, and then proceed to surround me, holding bloodstones and chanting “Away, evildoer!” And I know, it was nice of them to make the effort, but it was kind of inconvenient, back when I was working and had to be at the radio station at a certain time. Now obviously it wouldn’t matter. 

 

“At any rate, it hit me one day that I no longer fit in with the rest of society, so I decided that I would either hike deep into the wilderness to find myself, or simply retreat from the rest of the world until an idea that was actually useful came to me. After reading about the Whispering Forest that lures you in with flattery until you yourself transform into a tree, and the ghouls who live in the shadows, demanding finger bones and free healthcare, retreating into my home seemed like the safer option. 

 

That was… let’s see… about six months ago? I do not believe that I meant to remain sequestered away from humanity for so long…. but you know all about time. How it gets away from you, leaving you muttering to yourself “At my next opportunity, I’ll use a rope and duct tape! Try to leave me then, time!” 

 

Carlos giggles. I take this as a positive sign, until he calms himself and inquires about the obvious. “Why? Why would anyone treat you that way? Seriously, when I get to your universe, I will have words with your ex-employer and everyone who ever stopped you on the street. What  _ assholes _ . What did you ever do to them?” 

 

I speak with precision, willing my dear Carlos to understand. “Nothing to them. The reason that my community despises me is that, according to the Sheriff's Secret Police… I killed someone. Drowned them.”

 

Carlos gapes at me. I continue with “Years ago, the City Council decided that it would be extremely convenient if all murderers could be identified immediately afterwards, so they summoned an ancient eldritch god, or something along those lines, and cursed my entire town. When we kill, a tattoo appears on our skin, as a warning to others, and also so the Sheriff's Secret Police has an easier time hunting you down. Hiding it doesn’t work, because the tattoo will just move to different visible parts of your body, or burn through your clothes to be seen, and nobody wants to be running around topless with a murderer’s mark on their chest.” 

 

This is so hard to say. Because I’ve never fully been able to make myself accept it. “If you take the life of a family member, your body itself morphs, becoming more  _ animalistic _ , apparently. Critics, such as my brother-in-law, have pointed out that this is not a very practical method of identifying criminals, because now the criminals have additional limbs, talons, fangs, and can therefore kill again with more effectiveness. The City Council responded that they didn’t select your body’s responses to stressful events, and you should really stop blaming them for all your problems. They, the almighty City Council, cannot be bothered to modify every little flaw in the curse that they themselves did not even cast.”

 

“You drowned someone in your family?” 

 

Each word is infused with horror.  _ Why did I have to tell him?  _ I ask myself miserably. “I think… I mean, that is what the tentacles mean. I woke up by the side of the lake that manifests in town every five years for one week only before we return to our natural state as a barren desert. They were there, which was extremely disconcerting, let me tell you, suddenly having four new limbs. The Sheriff’s Secret Police captured me later that day. 

 

There was no trial, and no punishment, as nobody could find a body, and anyway if we went around locking every person who committed a crime up in prison, we’d hardly have a town left. But the thing is… the fact that I need you to… that I  _ hope  _ you will understand, is that I have no memory of the act itself. I don’t know which relative’s life I could have taken, because my entire family is accounted for. I couldn’t tell you why I would have chosen to kill, because I’ve never experienced such an urge before or after. I don’t feel any different, aside from the tentacles, which have become incredibly useful, especially for cooking and cleaning. 

 

“So I shut myself away, and I still can’t recall a single helpful detail.”

 

Please say something, Carlos. Do not hate me for some deep uncertainty that may never be brought to light. 

 

I am never certain if I should feel ashamed or not. 

 

“If you don’t remember it,” he says finally, “How do you know that this is not an elaborate plot against you? Did you have any enemies, anyone who would want to harm you?” 

 

“...Not that I know of… and I have considered that, but Carlos, the City Council does not make mistakes.” I must say this in case they are listening in. They  _ usually  _ don’t make mistakes. 

 

Carlos nods. “You didn’t have to tell me any of this.”

 

“I figured that you would find out sooner or later, and that it would really be better if it came from me. I am aware that repression and dishonesty are usually the ingredients for a normal relationship--or friendship--but I thought that maybe ours was an exception… not that we’re, like, in a relationship, given that we’ve never even physically been in the same room together, but…” 

 

“Cecil. I believe you.” The words are spoken abruptly, as if he has reached a sudden decision. 

 

“Y-you do?” Could this really be so easy? 

 

Carlos nods. “Whatever you’ve done, you are not a bad person. I know that. I admit that I know nothing about the rest of your life, nothing that indicates whether or not you are telling me the entire truth. You could in fact be a serial killer and your boots are constructed from your victim’s skin. However… every one of my instincts is telling me that this is completely ridiculous, and for the most part, I trust my instincts, even if they are merely electrical impulses in the brain working off of prior experiences.” 

 

We both fall silent again: me with relief, him with contemplation. “I still want to see your universe. And meet you in person.”

  
“Me too,” is all I feel safe saying back. 


	7. Faith...?

A Scientist’s Log

 

9/16/12

 

Am I making the right choice?

 

What is the correct choice when somebody you care about confesses to murder? 

 

Trust. I suppose that’s all it comes down to. Do I trust Cecil?

 

Not fully. How can I? I love our conversations. He is kind and understanding and the first person I’ve met who can be more manic and excitable than myself. Yes, I am self-aware enough to know how I come off to other people. A scientist is self-aware, after all. 

 

Cecil’s attractive too. I’d be lying if I said that isn’t a part of it. My team all thinks I’m either vaguely insane, or just being kind when I tell them that I like his wardrobe, or that his three eyes add character to his face. To which I tell them that insanity is a medical condition that we should not judge or attempt to diagnose, and no, I might not wear honeycomb jewelry or have a third eye, but I can appreciate them. 

 

I’m getting off track again. The question was, do I trust Cecil? 

 

If he were going to lie to me, then he would not have told me about the murder. He certainly wouldn’t have said that he stands accused of killing a--actually, I’d rather not say here. Future scientists, I apologize, but what is that saying? Bros before scientific advancement and the sharing of debased secrets? I never really paid attention to sayings like that before, because what could be more important than scientific advancement?

 

But this part of Cecil’s life isn’t going to contribute anything to science, and I don’t think he would want me telling everything to strangers from the future. 

 

Anyway. How much does this… friendship? Relationship? How much does it mean to me? I know, I mean, I’ve heard that when you are fond of someone, you tend to look for the best in them, and ignore the traits you dislike, at least at first. Because you want to believe that they are worthy of you, and you of them. Later, after you have known each other for a while, you will pick at their flaws and constantly urge them to change, while subconsciously aware that the argument is futile. My brother told me this when I was twelve and he fifteen. He laughed afterwards, which didn’t say much for how accurate this theory was. But I agree with him on the first point. I do want to believe the best of Cecil.

 

Ultimately, I am responsible for my own choices, and right now, I am choosing to accept his story. And I am choosing to say this: no matter what he has done, Cecil is-- when I think about it, I don’t like the word good. It implies a universal morality, a state of being that everyone must achieve. Cecil may not fit in with our definitions of good, but he is…

 

Wonderful anyway. There, just had to get that out. Wow, that must have been the longest I’ve gone without mentioning science in years! What can I talk about now?

  
The essence of reality. Let’s discuss the particles that make up reality as we perceive it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can be thought as more of a continuation of last chapter. I felt like Carlos let Cecil off the hook pretty fast, so I wanted to write a short piece with him struggling with the issue of "You just found out the guy you like is probably a murderer." Next chapter will definitely be longer than this, and will return to Dana and Tamika.


	8. Through the Smile

**Dana**

 

I have a plan. It allows me to feel a calm certainty that is in itself alien, compared to my emotions in all the time I have been trapped in this place. 

 

I may die, but there is a possibility that I am dead already, or at least so changed that I will never be the same living girl that I was again. so what does that matter? At least the anticipation will be over. 

 

I will not dwell on the infinite tortues that are a possible effect of this plan. It will make me hesitate, and I am tired of hesitation. 

 

**The Caged One**

 

_ When I close my eyes, I see the imprints of a terrible, burning light. I grimace, and shout at my captor, “Hey Smiley! How about letting a girl get some sleep!” It’s been an immeasurable amount of time since I was able to sleep, but I’m not saying that.  _

 

_ I used to read every night before bed. Now I recite books back to myself, words that the Smiling God hasn’t stolen yet. When I’m feeling maudlin, that is.  _

 

_ Other times, I think of new insults, or ways to escape, or ways to kill myself, which is the same difference, really. That’s a last resort, because if I die, then the Smiling God wins the war. Someone may still defeat it down the road, but it will have beaten me.  _

 

_ People (my friends, mostly) used to say “You’re so badass, Tamika,” and “I wish I could stand up for myself the way you do.” Also “You must be the bravest girl I know, completing your entire assigned reading list, and earning an A+ on your final English exam. How did you get past that librarian again?”  _

 

_ I cut its head off. And because the flesh was already rotted, it was easy. Easy to cut, I mean. No simple matter getting close enough for the beheading.  _

 

_ When I feel like screaming, when the despair rises and fills me up until the idea of hope feels like a cruel joke, I imagine slicing through that librarian’s throat.  _

 

_ This is a god. It’s going to be a bit trickier. I don’t plan to underestimate it again, like when it took me.  _

 

_ I had been… off for who knows how long. My friends noticed it. My parents saw my bleary eyes, and asked me if I’d been getting enough sleep. (Where are they now? Are they safe? Why am I always the one who worries about my parents, instead of the other way around?) I just couldn’t muster the energy to find the cause of everything. No medicine worked on me. Not even books could hold my attention.  _

 

_ Naturally, once the dreams started, I assumed I was possessed. And then that assumption was erased from my mind. So was fear. And suspicion. That’s what it does to you. It invades your brain, and your body, until it holds your soul. It wasn’t until my mom and dad started to behave in the same way as me that I knew something was really fucking wrong, and I had to save all of us. Because I am the one who saves people, I always have been.  _

 

_ I tried to research. I insisted that my family go on vacation, because I thought the thing’s influence might be limited to our house. And we were okay, I thought… then I saw the flash of light in the rearview mirror of our car. Then the car crashed.  _

 

_ Mirrors, I’d thought. It finds you in mirrors.  _

 

_ My mom and I dragged my dad from the car. Together we ran into the woods and immediately began constructing a shelter out of branches and discarded animal bones, like my mom and I both learned in girl scouts.  _

 

_ My mom got out her phone to call her sister, all of our friends. To warn them, if this creature was in all mirrors, not just ours, and also to ask for help. That was her mistake, to want someone to rescue her. You don’t depend on others to protect you. I learned that when it was just me and that librarian, chasing each other through shelves of books.  _

 

_ She pulled out her phone, and we both saw the reflective surface, and I thought desperately, is that enough for it to find us? Yes, yes it was.  _

 

_ A light so bright that I was blinded. I fell forward, but I stopped myself from striking the ground. I heard my parents crying out, and I did nothing. I left them. It was so I could find a weapon, and come back…eventually…. but I still left them. _

 

_ I’m sorry, Mom and Dad. You weren’t the best, but I love you. I hope you’re okay.  _

 

_ I went back to my house, because what did it matter anymore? I took a kitchen knife, and grabbed a copy of  _ Frankenstein _ , with all the tips that a person needs in order to dismember an unnatural being (although I would like to contribute my literary criticism over the issue of whether the monster can truly be considered unnatural. Is he merely an aspect of Victor Frankenstein, and if so, does he represent the darkness within all of us? I could write an essay, going into much more detail than my English teacher).  _

 

_ “Are you so much of a coward that you have to hide from your own victims? SHOW ME YOUR DAMN FACE!!”  _

 

_ It did. And all was dark, until I was here, and it became clear that the ever-present glow of a monster’s sun is worse than any shadow.  _

 

_ I lost that one fight. But I refuse to give in. I. Will. Never. Give. In.  _

 

_ What I don’t expect, what I never ever dreamed, is that someone would come for me. _

 

**Dana**

 

Please let this work. Please let me be strong enough. 

 

Kevin’s eyes widen in surprise when he sees me. He shows me his sharpened teeth in a frightening approximation of a smile. “Dana Cardinal! Great to see you! To be honest, I was getting a little worried. You shouldn’t be off by yourself. It could be dangerous!”

 

I am sure that he is sincere. Kevin is not like the other people here. He does not seem to have any past, or any thoughts beyond loving the thing that claims to be a god, and insisting that we all serve said god in a concise and productive manner. What this is supposed to consist of, I do not know. Perhaps the test ahead will show me. 

 

I hold up my hands. “I know. I just… I am lost, Kevin. I am searching for my God, but I cannot feel him.” I was never a particularly  _ decent  _ actor, but I’m only telling Kevin what he wants to hear. He nods, face turning  _ sympathetic _ . I wonder if the expression is genuine, or if he says to himself “Sympathy would be an appropriate emotion to display. Mouth curled down, eyes gentle and caring.” 

 

“I think,” I say now, “That I must...must be absorbed. In order to  _ understand _ , to be at peace.” The words terrify me, but at the same time, I breathe out in relief. My struggle to escape, to survive… if my plan does not work, then at least it will be over. I will not have to be afraid. 

 

“Oh! Of course, Dana. Don’t you worry, I can arrange that!” He holds out his hand, and I take it. 

 

Our surroundings change, which solidifies my idea that we are all existing in a separate reality than the world that I was born into. 

 

“Look,” Kevin says happily. “Isn’t it beautiful? Hello, Supreme Lord!”

 

Oh shit. Oh my...my…

 

I scream. The sound is entirely involuntary. I was wrong. This will annihilate me. This  _ thing _ … no, this God...no a thing, not a god….even now, I can’t perceive it as a whole being. I see a body that shifts and flickers like flames, but at the same time is arranged into a person-like shape. 

 

I see a face that is the sun, or the universe, or every universe. Too enormous and brilliant to comprehend. Except for the mouth, which is the size of galaxies, and is curved into a smile, or the parody of one. 

 

“Oh Dana, don’t be scared! You’ll feel better afterwards, I promise. Just look at me.” Kevin raises his arms, and for the first time, I see past the mad devotion. There is horror there, buried in the lines of his face, maybe something he barely notices anymore. He is afraid, or was afraid once, or is afraid now in the deepest part of his consciousness. 

 

I do not want this. I see my parent’s faces, my brother. Maureen. I hope…

 

But my hope is leaving me. Just being here, in front of the Smiling God, makes me despair, but I am  _ glad _ of it. Love him, and despair, and then do not despair because you love him… no  _ it _ , stop it Dana….the Smiling God will make sure that you never despair again, that you productively nourish it for the rest of your brief existence. Look, a purpose, when so many humans are purposeless!

 

**That is the gift I give all of you.**

 

And the mouth opens, and swallows me. 

 

There was no other way to get to her. No other way to weaken the Smiling God but from the inside, where it cannot see or hear. 

 

**Danadanadanadanadon’tdothisIloveyoudanaitsokaydanayouresafenownoworriesnoanythingrestdearchild.**

 

**Rest. Die. Resurrect as better than you were before.**

 

But.

 

I think.

 

I liked myself before. 

 

My brain is not my own. I am a part of a great whole, a being of light, the immortal creature  _ was never meant to be a god, no, just a creation, a child really, but it all went wrong, got too powerful, the child became the parent, indoctrinated its creator… _

 

_ Kevin. _

 

_ Kevin. _

 

_ Kevin Palmer. _

 

_ Cecil Palmer, this is your fault. Sort of.  _

 

I am experiencing the life of the thing that ate me. I am a part of it, for moments. And I see: it is simple to fill someone up with your passions and ideals when they are hollow. But I was not. I was bitter and lost, but I was never an empty vessel for the Smiling God’s influence, not when I arrived here, and realized what it had done to me. What it is continuing to do to innocent people. 

 

We are its food, and its subjects of compulsion. It could simply devour our souls, our memories, and our consciousness, but the Smiling God fills the shells with pieces of itself. It cannot help itself, because it is a god. 

 

Gods destroy, but they were made to build. And the Smiling God will build its own kingdom on top of my world, where my family presumably still lives. 

 

Or it will not. Because I will stand in its way. 

 

As myself. 

 

I open my eyes. 

 

I am inside what appears to be a stomach. I breathe deeply, thankful that the Smiling God is not comprised of true physical matter, and thus can support my life from within its somewhat metaphorical body. Now, how does one find a teenaged rebel who has been caged for an ambiguous number of months (or years)?

 

“Tamika Flynn?” I whisper. I do not assume that this will do anything, but it is good to know that my vocal cords still work. I step forward, hesitantly. I would say that it seems unlikely for this entire venture to be so simple, but I am afraid to jinx myself. “Never say out loud that which you do not want to happen. Only proclaim your innermost desires, so that the universe or a passing Djinn can make your dreams come true, free healthcare and dental plan probably not included.”

 

I heard someone on the radio say that once. His name was Cecil, maybe the same Cecil I’ve been trying to protect. I remember listening to his show at one point, and deciding that I would enjoy working in radio. I applied for internship at my town’s local station. I was told that they already had an intern, but why didn’t I get a job at one of the town’s unofficial stations that not many people really listen to, and wait for the intern position to open up? It should not take long, they told me. 

 

I am delaying. I came here so that I could find an ally, someone who I can trust, assuming that she has remained outside of the Smiling God’s control. 

 

If I am being honest, I also wanted to find someone who could help me decide what to do next. 

 

And Cecil? I heard his name, or sensed his name, along with images, memories that explain his role in all of this. He is not as helpless as I thought, but he may still need help. But first things first, as is only practical. 

 

When I first heard Tamika Flynn’s name, from people who were not yet entirely corrupted, I was told that she was too dangerous to be set free. She was held in the heart of the god, or so the rumors said. 

 

Okay, so I took human anatomy like a million years ago, but I think I can figure out where the heart is relative to where I am now? 

 

Luckily, the Smiling God’s organs are insubstantial things. I should be able to rip through them. 

 

**Tamika**

 

_ “ _ _ Souls cross ages like clouds cross skies, an' tho' a cloud's shape nor hue nor size don't stay the same, it's still a cloud an' so is a soul. Who can say where the cloud's blowed from or who the soul'll be 'morrow? Only Sonmi the east an' the west an' the compass an' the atlas, yay, only the atlas o' clouds.”  _

 

_ It works for me. I think that when I get out of here… or even if I don’t, which isn’t likely, of course… if the Smiling God changes me… I’ll still be Tamika. In some way.  _

 

_ I open my mouth to recite another passage, and then I hear a voice call my name.  _

 

_ It’s a girl. Older than me by a couple of years. She is slender, almost fragile looking, very definitely  _ _ not _ _ the sort of person I expected to find me. I would think that she is a prisoner too, but there’s no cage around her.  _

 

_ “Are you Tamika Flynn?” _

 

_ “Yes. Who the hell are you?” _

 

_ She frowns. “My name is Dana. I am here to save, no help, no… it doesn’t matter. I am going to free you. Although I did think you would be older. And taller.” _

 

_ Oh, seriously? “Thirteen is plenty old, lady. And I’m not even gonna comment on the height thing.” I have to play it calm and cool like this, because I can’t really accept that there really is a way out, and I didn’t find it. “And I hate to tell you, but I’ve tried literally every method imaginable of breaking these bars or opening that door. It doesn’t work.” _

 

_ “Maybe not from the inside,” Dana says, pondering. She touches the metal, before I can warn her that it’s hot. She winces, taking her hand away. “We don’t have a lot of time--” _

 

_ “Why? It seems like the only thing we do have is time.” But I’m already taking in her disheveled appearance, her quick breaths, the cuts on her face and arms. Shit. _

 

_ “Because the Smiling God has what seems to be some kind of internal defense system, so we will probably be attacked in the next couple of minutes.”  _

*

 

**Cecil**

 

I awaken to a feeling of extreme pain and rage. Now I know this is the typical response to a Monday, and most just grit their teeth and mutter “Screw you, day of the week that was clearly engineered as a subtle yet effective torture device.” Still, this feels a bit more extreme than normal.

 

_ Dana _ snarls a voice in my head. Oh great, that is just what I need for today. The unknown voices who are either real people or my own fragmented mind are angry, because of someone named Dana. I sense that this person did something they weren’t supposed to, though that could just be me conjecturing.

 

Okay, the emotion that isn’t mine is gone now. Good. Let someone else deal with this Dana. I have stuff to do. 

 

“Well whoever you are, Dana…you can win.” I don’t know why I just muttered that out loud. I want it to be true. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tamika's quotation is from David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas, and is very definitely not my own, although I wish that I'd thought of it first.


	9. An Unexpected Rescue

**Dana**

 

So this is the great Tamika Flynn. I would be underwhelmed, except that she has fire in her eyes and death in her voice. “I will get out of this cage, or I will die. And you know what, Dana? Dying doesn’t scare me as much as staying here. So for goodness’ sake,  _ help me think of something _ .”

 

“Um,” I say, having no clue what to say. The images of those things, like soldiers but not, that attacked me flashes through my mind. What are they? A natural part of the Smiling God’s system, or a purposeful assault meant to destroy the nonbelievers? Ultimately, it is irrelevant. 

 

I do not touch her cage again (although if the prison itself is the god’s body, we are both locked inside). I grit my teeth. I tilt my head. I do everything that makes one look as if they are having an idea, except no idea comes. 

 

“Did you hear that?” she asks. And I do. It is the sound of footsteps, and laughter. It is not cruel laughter. It is not angry laughter. It is jubilant laughter. It is the sound of a person enjoying themself. 

 

“Okay, come on…” she freezes, which (I pray, though not to the God we are currently inside) means that she knows what to do. “Dana!”

 

“Y--”

 

She does not even let me finish. “Is this internal defense system vaguely humanoid, and does it attack using typical human methods?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Great. So we wait for them to come in, then you get one close to my cage, I grab it, and then I either torture it as best I can from in here until it saws through the bars, or, to save time, I kill it and use one of its body parts to break… or its blood, if it has any, that could melt the metal… assuming it’s actually metal, which it probably isn’t, that’s just the Smiling God screwing with our brains, but anyway it’s worth a try.”

 

My voice...trembles more than I would prefer. “Excuse me, we’re going to just  _ wait  _ here? What if I’m killed before I can lead one of the soldiers near you? What if they cannot die? If they are merely an extension of the Smiling God, then I do not know if it is even possible to harm them.” Your plan is absurd, is what I mean. But there is no time left, even in a place where time should not exist.

 

Two soldiers (I cannot think of a better name for them) round the corner and saunter towards us. “Hello,” one of them says cheerfully, holding up a scythe with one hand and a throwing knife with the other. “We’re here on behalf of our lord the Smiling God, to personally brainwash you, remove any trace of free will that you might possess, and assist with making your stay here as comfortable as possible! If you fight back, we are authorized to use lethal force. Smile!”

 

“There is literally no other way out of this, unless you want to try to crack open this thing yourself and get your hands melted off. Come on,” Tamika stands, against all odds obeying their command to smile, though perhaps not in the way she was intended to. “Let me at them.”

 

A Scientist’s Log

 

9/20/2012

 

Cecil looked  horrible  today. It’s official. I am past worried. I am  extremely  worried. He was ashen and oddly flushed at the same time, which I did not believe was scientifically possible until I observed it in him. His eyes were dull, including the third one, and both his arms and his tentacles hung limp at his sides during our entire conversation, as if it was too much effort to lift them. 

 

Stan says I am overreacting. I snapped back that he was a thoughtless asshole, and he huffed and said that there were “Other scientists I could work for, who probably stay focused on one important area at a time instead of telling his lab assistants to ‘study everything and find out why it works’ while he talks with his alien boyfriend and doesn’t even bother to take decent notes. And furthermore, I hate your hair. Seriously, use a damn comb.”

 

There wasn’t a whole lot I could say to that. I stuttered for a minute, and was well on my way to arriving at an awesome (semi-awesome...fine...all right) comeback when Nilanjana stepped in and told Stan to go screw himself, except that probably wouldn’t work on account of his tiny….brain. Then she patted my shoulder, and asked me if there was anything she could do. I always knew I liked Nils.

 

“I need to help him,” I told her.

 

“Tell me, Carlos… when did this stop being about the research, huh? I mean, I’ve spoken with Cecil, and don’t get me wrong, he’s interesting and nice and everything, but he’s not someone I’d cross universes for. Well, I mean, I’d do it for the science, but not the guy.”

 

“I’m still interested in the science,” I protested. Because I cannot picture the day when I don’t care about science. Probably it’s when I die. At which point I’ll be desperate to note the exact sensations of dying, the physical state of death, and if there is something after, whether or not there will still be lab equipment. 

 

“Yeah, but you obviously lo--” at which moment she stopped, perhaps seeing a sudden terror in my eyes, and amended her statement to “care about this guy a hell of a lot. Some I’ll tell you what. Since I’m a nice person, and because I already took pictures of the two of you and photoshopped them into makeout position, I’ll help you get to Cecil. In fact, we all will.”

 

So there you have it. My entire team, rallying behind me. I am… touched. Nilanjana even convinced Stan to take part, through coercion and because she slipped him fifty dollars when she thought I wasn’t looking. 

 

Together, we are going to experiment the hell on this mirror, until we figure out how to access the wormhole. When that happens, I will be the first to go in. Officially, to make certain that it is safe for the rest of the team to follow, or be lost forever as a warning to all scientists.

 

Unoffically, I am done with waiting around. I am going to save my Cecil. 

 

Read closely, future scientists. Because things are about to get interesting. 

 

**Tamika**

 

I am enjoying this. Dana, my new supposed ally, would probably say that I have lost my mind during my imprisonment. 

 

I am not insane. I’m just loving the break in the monotony, the ability to fight back. 

 

Those guys. Seriously, I almost laughed at them, but it doesn’t pay to underestimate or remove your focus from your enemy. So I do the smart thing and laugh anyway, an exaggerated  _ Come at me  _ cackle, that was more for their benefit than for mine. Pay attention to your enemies, but let them think that you aren’t taking them seriously, or at least have become so unbalanced that you don’t comprehend the very real possibility that is your death. 

 

I think Dana is going to start crying. She is biting her lip and shaking her head slowly back and forth. “Please,” she whispers, and then she kicks the soldier guy in the groin and rolls out of the way of the other one’s outstretched arms. She immediately becomes more worthy of respect in my eyes. 

 

The terror is real, but it’s mixed with the same determination I feel rushing through me, that need to  _ escape _ , to  _ strike out _ , to  _ take control of the damn reins _ of this screwed up carriage ride. 

 

She heads in my direction. “Tamika!” Dana cries. “I will not let them hurt you!”

 

“I am afraid that you don’t actually get a choice in that matter, but I think it’s like, so cute that you believe you do. But you two are not leaving  **us** .” The last word spoken simultaneously by both soldiers, their voices combining into a deep bellow that somehow echoes and sends pain shooting down my face and jawbone. 

 

I look into their eyes. Unlike the librarian, these creatures have eyes. They shine too bright in their faces. I let my lips curl. “I’m ready. I’m done. Kill me, because I don’t give in.”

One of them obliges, while the other goes after Dana. She cries out and runs, disappearing from my sight. My soldier stands in front of my cage, smile stretching his face from ear to ear. He and the other look exactly alike, both neither thin nor fat, not tall or short. 

 

“We didn’t want to do this to you. We wanted to redeem you, but you will not be redeemed, Tamika Flynn.”

 

“Nope,” I say with all the cheer I can muster, and I implement the lesson that I learned years ago in girl scouts.  _ Trick your enemy into accomplishing what you cannot.  _

 

I let him enter the cage. He does not open it and risk me escaping; instead, he walks through the bars, melding with them, and sliding through. They are made of the same material after all, both complete fabrications of reality. 

 

And I leap at him, grab his throat, ignoring the sssss sound as my skin starts to boil, and squeeze. As I do so, I push him back. He struggles, but it is weakened, unused to true opposition. I’ve beheaded a monster that has haunted the dreams of people my grandparents’ age, and now I am essentially wrestling with a god. 

 

It’s a great day to be Tamika Flynn. 

 

The soldier takes the melted bars with him, because they’re now a piece of him, and I step through the opening. I let go and bolt away from him, because it’s done, I’m  _ out _ , and Dana was probably right anyway, I doubt you can kill these things. Pragmatic retreat can often be misconstrued as cowardice, but usually it’s just common sense. 

 

My hands hurt, so badly, and I so don’t care. “Thanks, wasn’t sure that was gonna work, but I appreciate it!” is what I want to yell, but I don’t. Because I’m not safe yet. I now have to find Dana, figure out how to return to a non-Smiling God version of existence, and then destroy (or at least incapacitate) it. 

 

In books, sometimes the hero defeats the monster. Usually in books there’s some consequence for that defeat, like the hero dies or someone they love dies or the hero can never go home again. And it’s a risk that I am going to take. 

 

I smile (the non-brainwashed kind) as I call Dana’s name. 

 

**Cecil**

 

I wake up.

 

The scrambled pieces of my mind, thoughts and memories that I did not even realize were missing fall back into place. My head still hurts, I still cannot think totally straight, but I am aware, suddenly.

 

Oh.  _ Ohh. _

 

I have been living in a daze, but now, I think I can just… umm…

 

There it is.

 

So there’s a malevolent god who somehow imprisoned me in my home, took possession of a portion of my brain, and has now, for some inscrutable reason, released me. Partially. Total release would imply that I feel back to normal, which I very much do not. 

 

I consider the possibility that this god has understood the error of its ways and decided to spread joy and refreshments to the world, but I sort of doubt it. 

 

Wait a second. Why the hell am I wondering about this now? I need to get out of here, before the thing that has just left me returns for what it discarded. 

 

Is it even bound to my house? If it is a god, can it reach me anywhere, any time?

 

Enough with the questions, Cecil! I go to the front door, and throw it open, stepping onto my porch for the first time in months. It’s a little cold out, and surprisingly dim. 

 

I breathe for a moment, taking everything that I have been missing. Then it occurs to me that I should probably leave and never return to this residence again. 

 

I grit my teeth, because _really? My life is hiding from amorphic deities now? When did_ that _happen?_ _Is my car even still here?_

 

I hear a roar combined with a hiss from inside. Khoshekh. I can’t leave without my cat.

 

I should also try to get ahold of Carlos and warn him not to use that wormhole thing of his, because there is a literal eldritch being that might eat him if he tries. The idea of Carlos dying physically makes me gag. Of course, it isn’t going to happen. I am going to save myself, and Carlos will stay where he is until this god is dealt with (whatever that implies) and everything will be fine. Fine. Fine, it’ll be fine, I keep repeating the word fine because I am confident. I am. 

 

Khoshekh is curled up on top of my bathroom sink, as usual. As I pick him up, I notice my own reflection in the mirror above the sink. And for the first time, I wonder… when did I even buy a mirror? When did I buy any of the mirrors in my house? I never used to own any at all, due to prophecy about my ultimate demise. Which will hopefully not be today. 

 

It occurs to me that the thing I’ve been using to talk to Carlos may in fact count as a mirror, and could therefore kill me or invoke this god, so I should probably leave it behind. This comes from the rational side of my brain, which is currently on the verge of a wrestling match with my stupid/sentimental side, which is like  _ um, no. Not happening. Nope.  _

 

I did try calling his cell number a couple of times, when we were experimenting with other modes of communication. It didn’t work, but maybe I just need better reception, or something like that. 

 

Also, I am starting to lose all understanding of why I feel the need to run in the first place.  _ The evil god who has been siphoning memories and Heaven knows what else off your brain for the past several months _ , I remind myself. 

 

It is difficult to hold on to this thought. As soon as the words occur to me, they begin to fade. It’s as if for one moment, one single moment the...thing...what was it again… was distracted. But now we are both, simultaneously, remembering each other. 

 

I remember it. I remember you. I remember  _ you _ , foul creature from…

 

Oh.

 

Kevin. 

 

“Cecil!” I look up, startled. My sister tugs at my arm impatiently. When did she even come in? “Come on, Cecil! I told you I’d protect you, didn’t I? We’re going somewhere safe.”

 

“Why now?” I whisper, my voice lost amidst terrible realization after terrible realization. 

 

“Its power’s receded from this house, from you, briefly, I don’t know why, Janice caught it on her monitor--”

 

“Janice knows about this too?” 

 

By now Abby is physically dragging me towards the door. I forgot how strong my big sister is. It’s been awhile since our childhood, when she would regularly beat me at Death Matches (swords and clubs included when we were feeling particularly competitive). 

 

Fighting. Kevin. I will admit, I forget to breath for a moment. Or maybe I just choose not to. 

 

“Carlos needs to know what is going on,” I finally muster. Because there is literally nothing else I can say that will not result in sudden panic attacks, furious yells, or tears. 

 

We are in my front yard now. The cacti have been partially eaten, and the once bright paint of my lawn chairs has faded. I sort of want to sit down and contemplate all the time that has passed me by, but Abby is already in the middle of giving me a glare worthy of Medusa herself (which reminds me, I had been going to buy a lawn sculpture from here before this whole thing happened..)

 

“Seriously, Cecil? Do you know how long Janice and I have been waiting for the chance to rescue you? Do you know how many nights I spent, not sleeping, just imagining my brother, not even knowing how you are in danger every second of your life? No. No, I’m not going to waste precious time now, or bring along an object that the Smiling God can reach through. It’s not happening. Sorry.” 

 

As much as my body rebels against admitting that my big sister is right about anything, she is right. “Okay. Okay, let’s get the hell out of here.” 

 

I mean, Carlos wasn’t going to try the dimensional travel for a while, right? I have time. I hope I have time. 

 

My teeth have begun to chatter. Abby helps me into the car. She hits the accelerator with an amount of force that I’m pretty sure was made illegal by the City Council due to the fact that it caused the cars to hover several feet above ground, and also created quite a bit of wind, which made it difficult for the Sheriff's Secret Police to photograph us on the streets. Fortunately, we just drive down the street at one hundred miles per hour.

 

I notice that Abby has removed the rearview mirror, and both side mirrors. I make myself pay attention to the little details, like my sister giggling with something approaching hysteria and relief. I concentrate on these things, so I do not have to think about my burgeoning migraine, or the blank areas in my mind, or the things that I do know, now. 

 

Khoshekh climbs onto my lap, hissing. I run my hand over his spines, and part of me wishes I had a drink, so I could forget yet again. 

 

“Abby?”

 

“Uh huh?” she replies, focusing on the road, which is probably wise. 

 

“Did I… did I kill Kevin?”

She pauses. I assume that Abby will answer with “Yes,” or, “it wasn’t your fault,” or perhaps, “You can remember Kevin now?”

 

“Sort of.”

  
I nod, then sink back and black out. 


	10. The Wrath of a God

**Dana**

 

I am trying to be positive here. I really am. 

 

Okay. Here goes:

 

Tamika is free. As am I. Free to wander around inside the body of the Smiling God until we decide on a way, or just find a way… any way… to get back out. Meanwhile, we are currently subject to attack after attack, and while Tamika and I continue to bludgeon, strangle, kick, and punch, there does not seem to be any long term solution. 

 

I was attempting to be positive. I  _ was _ . 

 

When I was first contemplating sending myself inside the heart of the thing that had terrified me for so long, I dreamed up ways of escaping, once I had achieved what I had first set out to do. I thought that I would be able to conceivably climb out through that gaping mouth, or at least break off a tooth or a bone and bludgeon my way to freedom. 

 

Even so, I would still be inside the Smiling God’s world, which is an extension of the God itself. So I do not know why I ever thought I would live through this. Maybe, the truth is, I didn’t. Maybe I just wanted to die doing something brave. That does not sound like the me I was, but the Dana Cardinal that was has been reduced to a mere presence inside the me that is now. 

 

Anyway, my ideas would not have worked. There are no teeth or bones, because the Smiling God is not a living thing, it is an endless thing. It is void given shape. And now I know why it was created, and by whom. I know that it cannot die. 

 

Tamika does not seem to care. “We’re going to reduce you to a bunch of photons, you asshole!” she shouts at the approaching mob, not soldiers any longer. More like great hulking masses, barely resembling people. 

 

“Tamika, we can’t fight them any longer. We will lose. There has to be something else--”

 

“Well then WHAT?!”

 

A vision appears. It is a girl, younger even than Tamika. She has dark hair and a third eye in the middle of her forehead. She does not seem to be armed, nor brainwashed. She glances around and notices Tamika and me. “Oh, hi! Give me a minute, will you?”

 

She faces the god-beasts. “Hello, Smiling God. Just wanted to let you know that your hostage has been rescued. Know what that means, huh?”

 

They scream in usion, eldritch cries that send chills through me. The girl does not seem affected, which probably means that she is only an astral projection, and the real girl is safe, wherever she actually is. 

 

“It means that my mom and I don’t have anything to lose anymore. It means that we can leave our town that you’ve… what’s the word, corrupted! That you’ve corrupted. We can move on, and you will never touch our family ever again.” The girl speaks with confidence, and barely repressed rage. She glances at me, and says “Uh, do you want to know how stupid you are? Really, really stupid. Like a lot. Totally a lot.”

 

The cue is obvious. She is acting as a distraction. Tamika and I duck out, climbing through vents that may actually be veins, although there is no blood, only an excess of harsh light and the faint smell of smoke. 

 

“Do you think she’s lying about running away?” Tamika whispers to me.

 

If I am right, the hostage the girl spoke of was Cecil. Which means that there is one less person for me to worry about. This allows me to smile as I say, “Probably.” 

 

The vents begin to compress. The smell of smoke is stronger. I can hear Tamika gagging, and muttering to herself, “Not yet.” 

 

I may be imagining it, but I can almost hear a voice, not harsh, but nonetheless, triumphant. “This is what you get for refusing to be a productive member of your community. Totally not sorry.” 

I whimper. I am too busy trying to breathe to be ashamed of myself for whimpering. 

 

“Come on,” Tamika manages, her voice breaking. I follow, but I know in a few moments, the vents will be too tight to move through, and we will both--

 

“Not real,” Tamika croaks. “It’s all in our in our minds… how we perceive it…” and she strikes her head against the top of the vent, repeatedly. I wonder for a moment if she has given in to despair, but no, that would not make sense. If we are only perceiving this place as chambers filled with smoke and monsters, then a part of us is still under the Smiling God’s control. I think back to the look of pain on the soldier’s face when I hit him. 

 

It cannot die, but it can be hurt. It has done everything it can to conceal that from us. It has tried to make us think that it is unstoppable. But nothing is. 

 

I reach up, dig my nails in, and tear through the metal lining that starts to ooze blood. It gets under my fingers and drips onto my face. 

 

I hear a screaming, with my ears and my mind and my bones, which rattle but do not break. It is a cry of anger and pain and I know then that Tamika and I have found a way. 

 

“Not yours,” I manage to gasp. Tamika has broken through, and we climb through the opening, holding our breaths as a black liquid that seems to be its lifeblood engulfs us. 

 

Tamika, I think, had it wrong. This is a real place, but it is not a place that obeys any known laws of life or matter. It is a void, with its own consciousness, and it must consume everything in its path to expand that consciousness. But we are here now. We are the solid mass inside the void, and now we are going to leave. 

 

We bite and claw through this soft material that I think must be skin, taking far too long, carving out breathing holes first, then wedging our bodies through.

 

We are outside, and the god has turned its face too us.

 

I fall backwards. Its eyes and teeth and  _ smile  _ (even now, it continues to smile) horrifies me, but it has no power over me. Not now. 

 

“Long time, no see, huh?” Tamika says conversationally. And I am just wondering how we will escape a second time, when we are still weaponless and it is still immortal and now there are brainwashed victims who are gathering around us, with as much rage as they can convey on their grinning faces. 

 

Also my skin is starting to blister under the blood, which I now realize is probably poison. 

 

“I--” Tamika begins, and the entire world is ripped in half. I am in a hurricane. I am shrieking. So is Tamika, but she stops after a moment. She probably will not admit that it ever happened. 

 

I see a man’s face, a familiar face. When I projected myself into Cecil’s dreams, when I saw into his head, this man was there. “Who… what..” he splutters. I take his hand, because he is so afraid, and I have moved beyond fear. 

 

I see a thousand hands, or just two very large ones, reach for us. I step backwards.

 

**Tamika**

 

I don’t know where we are. It looks like a house that was decorated by a person who is really, really enthusiastic about bright colors and cats. But that can’t be right. We can’t just be… safe. Alive. I was expecting to die. I didn’t want to die. But this seems so much more unlikely than death. 

 

“We’re in Cecil’s house,” the man says. I have no goddamn idea who he is. I am sick of not knowing anything about the situation.

 

Okay. He’s wearing a lab coat. That probably means he’s a scientist. He has really nice hair. I can’t tell what that says about him. He looks around, and starts calling, “Cecil! Cecil, are you here?”

 

“There is no point.” Dana tells him. “Cecil left, or was rescued. I think he was rescued.” Oh, so  _ that’s  _ who the girl back there was talking about. Probably another innocent who got possessed. Or almost did.

 

“Rescued  _ from what?  _ Seriously, what is going on? That… I do not think there is even a classification in the entire list of sentient beings that works for that thing I just saw. And you know, normally I would be fascinated and I would want to study it, but now I really just want to find Cecil and make sure he’s all right.” 

 

His voice shakes a bit on the last couple of words. But it takes a moment for that to register because there is a large CHOMP from behind us. Like someone’s just taken a bite out of the back room. 

 

If this is the home of an intended victim, then it’s basically a plague house. We need to get the hell out. 

 

Light seeps out from under the bedroom door. 

 

“MOVE!” I shout, not bothering to waste time on anything else. Thank any other god besides the Smiling one, the scientist follows my lead. I think it’s the face. I’ve been told that I’ve got a really good commander face. 

 

Dana grabs his hand, and we leave the Smiling God behind. 

 

**Cecil**

 

I wake up in the dark. “Uh, Abby?”

 

“Sorry, Cecil.” She flicks on a lamp. This creates a moderate amount of light, not enough to mirror the blistering light of the Smiling God. Which is really a relief. 

 

“Uncle Cecil!” My niece is sitting next to me. I laugh happily and give her a hug. 

 

“It’s good to see you, Janice.” An understatement. It’s  _ great _ to see her. It is great to see them both, to be here, alive, no longer half-asleep and near death in a way that I wish I did not comprehend. 

 

Janice leans back in her chair and frowns. “You’re okay, right? Cause Mom and I were really worried that we’d never get a chance to save you and you’d just keep getting sicker and eventually you’d die and I love you Uncle Cecil, and I don’t want you to die ever, even though we all die someday, but still.” 

 

“I am not dying,” I say firmly, and glance at Abby for confirmation of this fact. She nods. Good, because I would feel really bad if I’d just lied to Janice. Honesty, I feel, is really the best choice with people you care about. 

 

Which reminds me that Abby and Janice have both apparently known that I was under the spell of a monstrous deity for several months, and did not see fit to share this fact with me until yesterday. Or today. I do not actually know how long I have been unconscious. 

 

So I’m sure they had their reasons. Maybe they even tried to wake me up before and it just didn’t work! Or maybe they did not trust me enough to deal with the threat to  _ my life _ . Which is quite irksome, and I sincerely hope that my sister at least  _ attempts  _ to come up with a good explanation before I lose my temper and begin shouting. 

 

“Where are we?” I ask instead, glancing around. We appear to be in a drab, windowless room, with a cot (that I am currently sitting on) and a table, with a lamp on it. There is a door that presumably leads to another room, probably one as depressing looking as this. 

 

“A bunker that I cunningly built in the old abandoned mine shaft out on the edge of town. No natural light, so highly unlikely that our friend Mr. Smiley is getting in here. Just in case, no mirrors as well. No reflective surfaces, really. We even cover up the computer screens when we’re not using them.” 

 

“I am impressed. How long will our supplies last, assuming we have supplies, and we will not be reduced to capturing bats like that one week in our Adventure Learning Program?” 

 

“We’ve got enough supplies to last a couple of months, although I’m really hoping with you safe we can destroy, or at least incapacitate with extreme prejudice, this god once and for all,” Abby tells me. 

 

I shrug, not yet willing to show the depths of my relief, because after living with that thing in my  _ head _ … after what it did to Kevin… what I was forced to...to…

 

I am not usually the vengeful sort, but this is  _ definitely _ a vengeance situation. 

 

My sense of recovered self and relief at being here with my family gives way to extreme irritation as an  _ unfortunately  _ familiar figure walks into the room. “Of course, you’d be here.”

 

“I am kind of your brother in law,”  _ Steve Carlsberg  _ points out. 

 

“You _ are _ his brother in law, and he promised me that he would stop being rude,” Abby retorts, squinting coldly at me. 

 

Surviving possession, only to get stuck in a tiny bunker with Steve. I mean, I don’t  _ think  _ I did anything to offend some great higher being to the extent that this would happen to me. Aside from the obvious. Which I am not counting as legitimate higher being. 

 

“Glad to see you’re all right, Cecil! And I promise I won’t talk too much. Except, I did here this interesting theory about how the Smiling God is really just a cover for--”

 

Abby lowers her head and sighs. I moan and wince. Even Janice says, “Um, Dad?”

 

Steve continues for a full two minutes that I will never get back, ever. When he is done, the last words he speaks being, “Mind-blowing, isn’t it? I thought so too!” before returning to what I assume is the pantry to prepare a celebratory dinner, I finally say, “So… um, plans?”

 

“Tons of them!” Janice assures me. “The first one was to convince the Smiling God that we were just gonna run away, so he’ll be trying to stop us from escaping town instead of expecting an attack. I did that just a little while ago.”

 

Abby frowns. “I was going to do that. We agreed that it was too dangerous for you.”

 

“You said that it was ‘forbidden’ and I said, ‘uh huh,’ and crossed my fingers behind my back.” 

 

“Janice. If we were not already underground, I would ground you.”

 

“ _ Mom _ . Come on, you know I’m better at astral projection anyway--”

 

“So,” I interrupt, “You were aware that I was trapped by an eldritch being, and you didn’t think to tell me.” They both stop, and blush. Janice blushes. Abby just kind of scowls in a self-justified way. 

 

“You knew what was happening,” I continue, my anger becoming a near-physical presence somewhere in the back of my throat. All of the exhaustion of the past several months, the fear, the boredom, the sense that I was slowly losing my mind. The fact that I am still least in the know, even now. 

 

Being forced to leave behind my only way of contacting Carlos might be making me a little distressed as well. 

 

I wish he were here now. Not that I think he would be remotely of any help when it comes to my family drama, but it would just be nice if Carlos were here. 

 

“It isn’t like that,” Abby says fiercely. “I wanted to tell you, to warn you in some way, but don’t you get it?  _ You were being held hostage _ . The Smiling God  _ appeared  _ to me, or whatever it is you call it these days, and said that if I took any steps to end its existence, it would do more than kill you. It said, and I quote, “I will devour his memories first, then his mind, and eventually I will eat his heart so the only thing keeping him alive is me. The only thoughts in his head will be my thoughts. His voice will be my voice. His soul will be smothered within mine.” 

 

“That’s…. I don’t really have any comeback,” I say weakly. I am glad that I’m already sitting down. 

 

“The deal was this: you stay in the house, and it kept you remembering enough that was good for you, and neither Janice nor I would interfere. This would last until the Smiling God consumed the entire town, and possibly the next town over, or the whole state, and then presumably the country, and on and on. Meanwhile you couldn’t live in that environment, just the god’s presence was making you ill, and I had to look you in the eye over and over again and pretend everything was  _ fine _ .” 

 

Put that way, my anger starts to dissolve. My confusion, unfortunately, remains the same. And my sadness for all the time I’ve lost, and all my family has gone through. Also, I could really use something to eat right now, but  _ Steve _ is making the food, so I need to find a way to subtly sneer at it without alerting Abby and at the same time acknowledge that it is still edible, and I am so hungry that I just  _ might  _ eat something touched by Steve. 

 

I don’t really want to bring up the elephant in the room here, but Abby proceeds to do so anyway. “So what do you remember about Kevin?”

 

I sign. “I remember that he was our brother. My twin. He used to say that he was mom’s favorite kid. He chose to live in that town,  _ Desert Bluffs _ and so we hardly ever saw him. He got a job as a radio host there, but I always thought he was just copying me. He was kind of annoying, and he always acted like he knew something I didn’t, which was just weird, but I… I…” 

 

I can’t say anymore. I can see Kevin’s face, and there is something not right about it. His eyes are dilated. He is talking so fast, about his God, and I say “Kevin, since when did you even go for religion?” and he says, “Since I  _ made _ a God. But don’t tell him I said that. He isn’t my child anymore. He is all grown up, and I’m so proud.” He giggles. 

 

“Okay, Kevin, you aren’t making any sense. The City Council clearly states that for properly creating a new divinity you need to present a cult of  _ at least  _ thirteen followers before it’s official--”

 

“We are not a cult. We are truth. We are a hard-working group of people who will spread His glorious warmth to all the world.”

 

“Uh,” I say, and my brother’s lips turn up in a hideous parody of a smile. I do not know what is wrong, but this is not Kevin. “I am going to be honest here, I don’t know what you’re talking about. It sounds, y’know, just a tad bit unrealistic. Like how are you going to--”

 

My brother grabs my throat and squeezes. He leans in close to me, and whispers,  _ “I am the unraveling of all things. You do not disagree with me.”  _

 

I kick his legs out from under him. His grip loosens, and I try to move away, but he jams his fingers into my eyes, and even though I’ve never really liked fighting there doesn’t seem to be much of a choice, because Kevin is trying to kill me. 

 

We are on the dock that gets transported here with the lake every five years, as usual. I do not want to hurt him, I just don’t, and he can swim, I know he can. I stand on trembling legs. Kevin gets up too, and for a moment, I think there is horror on his face, and remorse. His lips mouth my name and he raises his hand to strike me, robotically, half-hearted. 

 

It is instinct that makes me shove him backwards. Kevin flails, and at the last moment he holds on to me as we fall. I hit the dock with my head. I hear a splash as Kevin tumbles into the water. I do not hear any paddling. I raise my head, and see that he is not even making an effort. It is as if something within him has already died. He is visible for a moment, and then he has sunk beneath the surface. 

 

I could dive in to save him. I could call for help. But I lie there, dazed. Spots of light appear before my eyes, and then I am violently plunged into darkness. 

 

So, there’s the event that I struggled to recall for so long that I had almost begun to disbelieve in its existence. I drowned my twin. I am a murderer. 

 

My brother is dead. 

 

Janice puts an arm around me, because I have started to sob. Abby takes my hand and strokes it. “Hey. Don’t, Cecil. Whatever you think, it isn’t the whole story.”

 

“Kevin created the Smiling God. Somehow, and how was he even able to do that anyway? Making gods was never in our curriculum at school!” I am kind of rambling now. “He was enthralled when he tried to kill me, obviously. But… wait. I  _ heard  _ him. I mean, first I had a dream involving him and some girl who was trying to warn me, which I appreciate now. But then I actually heard Kevin’s voice in my head. While I was awake. How is that possible?”

 

Abby glances at Janice, then back at me. “Just tell me!” I cry, frustrated and still a little teary eyed. 

 

My sister shrugs. “Okay. This is pretty long overdue, anyway. I am going to tell you why Kevin is still alive, even though he drowned. Why it was so important to have you dead or helpless. Here it is: a story, Cecil, about you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I have taken to referring to as "Carlos ex machina." Also, the next chapter title/theme should be obvious now.


	11. A Story About Cecil

 

I guess I’ll have to start with our parents. So, they’re um, old. I mean, obviously, they’re our parents, but… Mom always said there were others, you know? She didn’t know their names, because names were invented later on, but they were there, in the dark. With our parents.

 

Sorry. I am not making much sense. I never knew how you wove phrases together and made things fit in a way that was a little wrong and a little right at the same time. You’re the one who knows how to tell a story, Cecil. 

 

I’m not the storyteller in this family. And this is not an easy story to tell, because it’s personal. But, I can see the frustration gathering in your eyes now. You just want me to get on with it. Okay.

 

You can remember your childhood, and that’s real. And it wasn’t. Parts were true. Mom was always really strict and kind of nonsensical in a way that scared us sometimes. I was the bossy older sister who knew that I had to protect my brothers. Not from anything in particular. From life. From the way others shape and change you until you’re not  _ you  _ anymore. 

 

The thing is, Cecil, is that the brain forgets things that are too big or too vague to comprehend. The knowledge is still there, locked inside you, but you can’t quite get to it, because it would make no sense in the reality that you are currently living in.

 

Your memory problems did not begin with the Smiling God. It’s just that the first time around, you chose to forget. 

 

You’re staring at me. You can’t believe I just said that. You do not want to believe, because there is so much that you do not know about yourself, and you used to think that you were so knowable. So normal. You’re not, honey. 

 

Yeah, I just called you honey. It’s because I felt bad for you. I won’t call you honey again. I’m not the kind of woman who uses “honey” idly. 

 

Think back, Cecil. How old are you? You look thirty-five. You feel thirty-five. Physically, you are, in fact, thirty-five. 

 

You were also here the day the town was built. I was standing next to you, and we were snickering about how ridiculous those guys looked in their soft meat crowns. Kevin wasn’t interested. But you were. You came back every day as the walls went up and the shops opened. Or maybe it wasn’t every day. It was often. Time is different for us, it always has been. It was. It became normal when you decided to take up residence permanently in the town which you yourself, through whispered suggestion to the very first City Council, named Night Vale.

 

Oh, if you’re wondering why, Night Vale was the name of your favorite drink with which to forget. It went out of style about three hundred years ago. But boy, did you love that drink. 

 

It was also the nickname that Mom gave to the universe. “A veil of night,” she used to tell us. “That’s what it was before the planets, and the stars, and the dust. That’s what it will go back into. Live long enough, and you can watch it die. I look forward to that,” she’d say. And Kevin asked her why, wouldn’t that be horribly sad, and you shook your head. 

 

“Nope,” you said to him. “It’s just a circle.”

 

Our names were not Abby, Cecil, and Kevin then. Names didn’t have the same meaning to us. We changed them. Sometimes we didn’t have names. We knew when we were being called. 

 

We didn’t look like we do now. Our faces got static. Well, you got static. I just got out of the habit. See? I can still sort of--

Oh come on, no need to look so freaked out! There are plenty of people with blue skin and ten arms, it’s not like I turned into a twenty-foot tall three-headed centaur. I am  _ way  _ too out of practice for that. For goodness’ sake, get ahold of yourself. Seriously. 

 

Hope it’s okay that I’m not really doing linear explanations here. I think it’s more effective if I keep reminiscing before I tell you what you are starting to suspect. You are starting to--

 

Yeah, you are. Does it ring any bells, Cecil? Hmm? Any of it sounding familiar?

 

What’s that? It does? It sounds right, even though it does not fit with your memories, your self-image, any of that?

 

Well good. Pay attention to that feeling. Memories are flimsy, open to interpretation and error. Trust me, I have authority on the subject. 

 

I don’t mean to freak you out. I’m sorry. You’ve been through so much already. This is… but you did want to know. And I thought about lying. I wondered whether the Cecil from before would want to remember. But he, that Cecil, he’s irrelevant. It’s just you now, and you asked me. 

 

There was one day, early on, where you and I were just children, physically and mentally, you saw a couple of humans trying to communicate. 

 

This was really a long time ago. Dad was still with us then. I barely remember Dad, and I remember  _ everything _ . He left pretty soon afterwards, to explore more galaxies. Mom made fun of him for being bored with this world before it was even grown up. But back to you.

 

You watched them, two homo sapiens who hadn’t really lost the ape appearance yet, and you had this gleam in your eye, Cecil. This desire that I’d never seen in you before, to  _ create _ . 

 

We all got it, sooner or later. We, meaning you, Kevin, Mom, Dad, and me, were all born to create. I think. Nobody told us why we were born. Mom tried. Even she couldn’t say for certain. 

 

The next day, or at least the next dawn, you went down to earth for the first time. I followed you. You didn’t see me, but I was worried. I knew, y’know, that you couldn’t really be hurt, but still. Big sister. Couldn’t help it. You were young. 

 

You were shaped like them, so they wouldn’t be afraid of you. It was kind of you. You could have terrified them, made them bow down to you, but you didn’t. You just wanted to give them your gift. 

 

You touched the forehead of one of the women, and you connected her mind to everyone’s each and every human that existed in that childlike world. Maybe the people who didn’t live on earth felt the affects as well, because I always wondered how the aliens who live on  Mars got their ability to speak.

 

That’s what you gave them, Cecil. You gave them a word, and you gave them the ability to understand that word, and the words that came after it. And then you helped them create new words. 

 

No beating around the bush any longer. You were a god, Cecil. I use the word “were” because you are not, technically, a god anymore. You gave it up. You’re still, biologically, a vast semi-divine being beyond the bounds of human comprehension, but you don’t really rule over anything or make more miracles or divine stuff like that, so I say “were.” 

 

We were all gods. We weren’t gods in the sense that we were worshipped. Mom was worshipped for a while. People forgot about her. Personally, I think that’s why she started to fragment, you know what I mean? Her children turning on her. Not us. The other people. 

 

Yeah, Cecil. Mom made the earth. She did not, personally, make the life that currently resides on the earth. Like you, she just allowed for the  _ potential _ . She did add a bit extra into humans’ DNA, so they wouldn’t, quote “Look as boring as those semi-ape creatures from that other dimension, and also so nobody can say that I ripped off the design.” That’s basically why we have third eyes and stuff, and your boyfriend Carlos doesn’t. 

 

Look, this doesn’t have to change your entire perception of yourself. You’re the same person, Cecil. You just have a bit more to you than you thought. 

 

I know you must be wondering  _ why _ ? Why, after millions of years, during which we all existed in a kind of daze, no consequences, outside of everything, did you choose to come here? Why did you give it all up? Why did I? 

 

The answer’s right there. There was just us. There weren’t other gods. There were other creatures that were similar to us, like this group of angelic beings who all referred to themselves as Erika, but they had their lives and we had ours. 

 

And here was this entire world at our fingertips, that we could visit any time we liked. But eventually, you stopped wanting to visit. Because every time we came, something was different, the humans you’d become friendly with were dead, your favorite stores had been reopened under a new name and weren’t nearly as good. It was like that for me too, but I accepted it. Kevin accepted it. We did not know anything else. 

 

You did not know anything else, but you wanted to. You wanted to become a part of time. To be a member of the communities, instead of gazing in from a great distance. It wasn’t, I think, that you necessarily felt like you had to  _ belong _ , that you had to be  _ like the group _ , or have best friends, or anything like that. I say this because goodness knows you didn’t do any of that stuff. I think you were just feeling lost inside eternity, and living in a sea of life eased that cold numbness that was starting to spread through all of us. 

 

So you announced your plans to leave. Mom took it well, probably because she has the power of foresight and saw it coming centuries in advance, which explains all the comments she made to you about interesting topics of conversation when you’re holding a radio show, and also smooth pick up lines that did not involve “Hey cutie, want to see me make the sky change colors?” Or inquiring about one’s ideal fantasy image of a man, and then transforming into that exact shape and winking at the startled mortal. 

 

Kevin wasn’t so happy. He was lost too, but not enough to take up permanent residence in a human neighborhood an eventually lose his god-powers.

Because that’s what Mom warned you would happen. If you immersed yourself in time, you would start to forget who you were. Your past would fade from you. Your mind would change things in order to create a childhood and early adulthood that fit in with the person you would transform into. She really laid all of it out very nicely.

 

And you didn’t care. Well… in fairness, I don’t know if you really believed everything Mom said. It was too difficult to contemplate, because you had never been anything but a god. How could that knowledge leave you?

 

But it did. You came to Night Vale, the town you named, and you made yourself a life. You looked young, remember, when you first arrived? I think you picked age twenty-three or so. It’s been twelve years. You’ve aged. You’ve forgotten, just like Mom knew you would. 

 

Kevin visited you often at first. Enough, I think, so he wouldn’t lose track of the era he was supposed to be appearing in, and arrive to find you an old man, or dead. 

 

Yeah, gods aren’t really supposed to die. But I think, unless I’m wrong, that you can now. Which is why I was so  _ worried  _ for you when you were taken hostage. You were deemed “dangerous” because of your dormant nature. I think the Smiling God was afraid that you would recollect the deity that you had been before, and take steps to strike it down. With the two of us working together, I bet we could do it, Cecil. 

 

I mean, I don’t really know if you still have any of the old reality warping abilities or if they’re lost forever, but you do have plenty of skills that you picked up from Boy Scouts and elementary school. Which you did participate in, by the way. About fifty years ago. You were curious, so you made yourself look like a young boy and went through the whole school curriculum. You couldn’t tolerate most of the grades for more than six weeks, so you just kept bumping up your age a year so you could be in the next class for a while and then so on. I kind of surprised that no one noticed, but then again, it’s Night Vale, so the principal probably shrugged and said “Who am I to stop anyone from getting an education? Seriously.  _ Who am I? _

 

And you really did enjoy senior year of high school. You went to your first prom, I still have the pictures. 

 

So why did I come to live in Night Vale, hmmm? Simple. You were my little brother. I couldn’t let you beat me in something. Any new thing you did, I had to do it better!

 

All right. So that wasn’t the whole reason. I was bored too. And I wanted to make sure that you would be okay. You were the brother I fretted about the most, mainly because you kept getting yourself into trouble, and Kevin sort of preferred to stay home and see if he could make the clouds rain butterflies made of light. 

 

Until now, that is. I was so angry, you know, at Mom for not warning us, for not stopping him. I guess it was one of those fate things that she couldn’t change, and she didn’t want us to be sad or scared, aware of what the future had in store for our brother. But still. Her son… and she just….

 

Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap the bed in two. I’ll fix it. 

Out of all of us, Kevin loved creating the most. And I think that once you and I were gone, he was terribly, terribly lonely. He felt abandoned. He wanted a friend, or somebody, who understood him. Who wouldn’t leave him.

 

Don’t blame yourself, Cecil. Kevin could have called more. He could have made the effort to reach out to more people in Desert Bluffs...heck he even tried the radio thing just because you were doing it! But it was different. he didn’t lose himself, and as a result he was never really a part of anything. Like how you don’t enjoy yourself if all you can think about is time passing, the next thing coming soon. You’re not present in the  _ now _ .

  
  


So Kevin somehow, and the details are still lost on me, built a new god. One who was meant to be kind, to make people  _ smile _ . Because that’s how Kevin was. Come on, you have to remember that. Of the three of us, he was the nicest. The most cheerful. The one who laughed at everything, not in a mocking sort of way, but in a happy way. He made you want to laugh with him.

 

Go ahead and cry if you want. I’ll just stand here, um, wipe this dust out of my eyes. 

 

So that’s it. The story of you, Cecil. There’s more. Of course there’s more. But we don’t have forever for me to just keep going on, not with the Smiling God preparing to strike. Plus, my voice is getting super tired. I do not know how you do it. Did it. 

 

Oh, so Kevin’s not dead, obviously. I mean, you drowned him, and he may have died for a moment, just the body, but not the person. But in that moment, when he was totally vulnerable, that’s when, I assume, the Smiling God took full possession of him. Before that… I’d like to think he fought it. Just a bit. 

 

Anything else? Nope? 

 

Wait, me? You want to know about me? Why I am still myself, even though I did have a daughter with a mortal, and oh dear, you’re just realizing your niece is in fact a demigod. That’s true. Luckily the kids at school never held it against her. 

 

It’s very simple. Every god has this urge to  _ construct  _ things. It’s just there in our wiring, whether it’s a world, or language, or an extremely malevolent smiling immortal. 

 

I developed my design long before you or Kevin were born. Everything just kind of passed through my head, and it was there and then it wasn’t.. Things happened to me, and I would feel like they happened before, but it was only a sensation, a feeling. And so I thought, in a time before words, because like I said, you hadn’t been born yet, that it would be nice if the mind could encompass all that was, and all that came before as well. So you could revisit the past, not truly, but inside your head. 

 

I don’t exactly know how I did it. I don’t think any of us knew. It’s not a material process. It’s something innate, something instinctual. So I made up  _ memory _ , and from that came dreams. That’s why I could never wholly disremember. Memories are my domain, like language is yours. It’s that simple.

 

I’ve really done enough talking now. My voice is all raspy, can you hear it? I think it’s time for dinner. And if you criticize the food Steve prepared, I will take it away and you’ll be forced to eat those bats you mentioned earlier. Clear enough, little bro?

 

Good. I thought so. 


	12. Reunion (Finally. Like, that took way too long)

**Cecil**

 

I am not often speechless. 

 

No. I am  _ never  _ speechless. I always have some witty retort, some brilliant remark… some awkward and misplaced statements that nevertheless constitute some sort of answer.

 

Now, all I can do is sit on the broken remains of what was once very recently a cot, stroke Khoshekh’s fur, and try vainly to fit all that Abby has told me in with my own recollections.

 

It’s fuzzy. Very fuzzy. Like, morning you wake up after being possessed by the Almighty Glow Cloud ( **All Hail** ) blurred. But I know, instinctively, that she was not lying. That I truly am, or was, the god my sister made me out to be.

 

This news makes me extraordinarily irritated, mainly due to the nameless melancholy that threatens to take up permanent residence in my chest and possibly make me cry some more. 

 

Well, that  _ isn’t  _ going to happen. I am done with disbelief and sadness. For the time being. Hopefully. I mean, I can’t predict the future. But for now, I’m going to work on how to kill, or at least incapacitate with extreme prejudice, the Smiling God. 

 

Sorting out my fragmented past can be done at a later point, when we are not hiding in an underground bunker, less we have our souls overridden and swallowed by the thing my twin brother, who was apparently more of a god than I was, unleashed upon the world. Thanks a lot, Kevin. Guess who’s not getting invited to my next bowling party? 

 

This thought is followed by the fact that Kevin may never be fully himself again, and will thus be unable to bowl. I hate logic. Also, the way in which thoughts flow into other thoughts that we’d rather not think about. 

 

“Janice,” I call out, “So, how many lethal weapons do we have? Also, tell me how you’re doing in school! I want to hear all about it.” 

 

**Carlos**

 

When I decided to cross universes to rescue the guy that I not-so-secretly hope to make my boyfriend (if he’s interested. I assume he’s interested, but assumptions can be wrong. I don’t want to assume. Stop assuming, Carlos) and also to study literally everything I could find in this alien land (because so. Much. New. Science.) I did not anticipate Cecil not being here, and almost dying, and meeting two teenage girls who are just now thanking me for rescuing them from some sort of literal Hell. Also, I have absolutely no clue where I am, except that is probably Cecil’s town, which he mentioned was named Night Vale, but I do not know where that is. 

 

Plus, mirrors are dangerous, as this brilliant and terrible being that I glimpsed briefly (and was overwhelmed with a perfectly understandable amount of fear) can kidnap people through them. Or something like that. The two girls are both babbling at the same time, so I am really having trouble getting all of this down in my notebook. 

 

“And what did you say your names were again?”

 

“Dana,” says the younger, fierce-looking one, pointing to the older one. 

 

“Tamika,” says the older, and altogether more polite one, pointing to the younger one. 

 

“She is Tamika,” clarifies the older. “I’m Dana. You’re Carlos.”

 

“I am,” I agree, thinking that it might be useful to confirm that this is definitely my name. “I’m, uh, a scientist. Ignore the “uh”. I’m a scientist from another world, so…” I cannot think of any more endorsement for myself. Dana looks impressed, which makes me blush, just a little. I arrange my features into what I hope is a “competent adult expression” to compensate. 

 

Technically, I am the adult in this situation. Does this mean that I should be… doing something adultlike? What would that be? Clearing my throat and offering to take on this god by myself? No, no that would be absurd. These girls know  _ way  _ more about… really, everything in this universe than I do. I am more of a child here than they are.

 

Besides, from what I remember from being a teenager is that kids around that age don’t like listening to authority and in fact actively rebel, sometimes just to be contrary to all parental opinions. That was never  _ me _ , but….   
  


“If you’re thinking that because you’re the grown up here you get to take over,” Tamika begins, “You are literally the most idiotic person currently alive who will soon be dead or brainwashed if he tries to fight the likes of the Smiling God in order to spare two “little girls.””  She makes quotation marks on the last statement, which I am fairly sure means that she was being highly sarcastic, and if I call her a little girl she will proceed to beat me into unconsciousness. 

 

“Of course not,” I say defensively. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I did not plan on getting caught up in some war with an evil glowing giant with… a horrifying grin… although I only have your word for it that this god is evil… in fact I do not know if you are entirely misrepresenting the situation. Never presume anything based off of appearance, that’s what I always say. That’s why I like to study it, and perhaps perform experiments on it and analyze why those experiments might be important, and…”

 

“It’s evil,” Dana says flattly. I breathe out, glad to have been interrupted, because I think I was starting to babble a little bit.  _ Don’t get so overexcited, Carlos. Not everyone appreciates science, hard as that is to comprehend. Basically, be quiet, and find Cecil. Then see if there is any way to appropriate some DNA samples from this Smiling God, study them under a microscope, see if they do anything weird, and maybe ask Cecil on a date.  _

 

I like this goal. The first and last parts in particular are my favorites. 

 

I breathe out, forcing myself to stay calm. I can deal with uncertainty. I’m a scientist. My entire career is uncertain! “All right. I have concluded that my best option is to believe everything you say--”

 

“Good,” Tamika mutters. Dana nudges her, which earns her a glare. Dana hurriedly glances away. 

 

“I wasn’t finished. Whatever my level of knowledge or lack thereof, I did save your lives, or souls, or you know, whatever was in danger of obliteration! Back in my world, that would mean you’d owe me. Now, normally I think that the entire concept of being forced to pay back a favor with an entirely different favor is ridiculous, but right now, it’s basically all I’ve got.”

 

“He is right,” Dana points out. “Without Carlos, we would be reduced to the ashes that flutter near the entrance of the void, or our minds would be engulfed by that of the Smiling God. Besides, he is a scientist! Currently, we are an army of two, and a scientist could make the all difference between utter destruction, and minimal destruction. This is of course, assuming that you will help us,” she adds. “I understand that this is not your battle. I would not blame you for walking away.”

 

“Normally, I would.” This of course from Tamika. “But you are, as far as I can tell, a total innocent, alien to everything the Smiling God represents. You put yourself in the demon’s path. It’ll come for you, so you have two choices. I can try to smuggle you somewhere safe, and you would have to accept that I have spent nearly a year in captivity, and so do not know where safe  _ is  _ anymore. Or, you stay with us and use those supposed mystical skills of yours to figure out how to fillet the beast.”

 

I decide to ignore the “mystical skills” comment. “The second option.”

 

“Are you certain?” Dana asks.

 

No, not at all. “Yes. Definitely. A scientist embraces danger. But here’s the thing: before we devise any god-killing plans--still not entirely convinced on the theological part, by the way--I want to find my friend. I would like to see for myself that he is… well, that he has survived unscathed--”

 

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up. You don’t encounter the Smiling God and saunter away undamaged,” Tamika says bluntly.

 

“--Mostly unscathed. Then, I will draw upon the great mystery that is science, and assist you with killing--”

 

“It cannot be killed,” Dana cuts in. “It is, as far as I could comprehend from my brief immersion in its mind, without the possibility of death. Pain, yes. But it subsists outside the truth of life and its opposite as we know it.”

 

“--with maiming--” I wince at this, having never maimed anything in my life, and not particularly looking forward to adding that tally to my list of things I plan to undo once I unravel the secrets of time and subsequent travel through it, “--or incarcerating, or whatever it is you would like me to do! Just…” I stumble, having little idea what I planned to say next. 

 

Mainly because I am only now realizing how alone I am, despite the two people in front of me. I am a scientist in a place with monsters, or what society and myself from my brief encounter with that one, perceive to be monsters. Dana and Tamika appear to be human as I am used to categorizing as human: no third eye or tentacles to be seen. This does not mean that they are like me. 

 

It’s not that I am suddenly prejudiced against other beings. Nor do I regret coming, exactly. Because new and frightening is what I  _ love _ , ordinarily. It’s what I live for. It’s just that I have never been thrown into an apparently hostile environment where  _ everything  _ is new and frightening before. That’s all. 

 

Dana seems to notice my shoulders slump, or the sudden way I wrap my arms around myself, unthinking, mechanical. She frowns, and tentatively reaches out with her hand. When I do not run away screaming, she places it on my shoulder. 

 

Tamika shuffles her feet, and puts her hands in the pockets of her well-worn jeans. I get the impression that her confidence stems from protecting people and slaughtering evil things, and when it comes to giving comfort, she becomes useless. 

 

For the first time, I can relate to this terrifying, astoundingly brave thirteen year old. Not the unable-to-be-comforting-part. The unsure-how-to-react-or-act-around-other-people-part. 

 

“Thanks,” I tell Dana. “So, um… any idea where Cecil could be?”

 

“Well, the girl we saw back when we were inside the god’s stomach--”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“--Dana and I were trapped, which is all you need to know right now, and we saw an astrally projected girl, maybe ten or eleven, dark hair, and oh, a third eye. Didn’t you mention Cecil has a third eye?”

 

“Yes,” I shout with a bit too much enthusiasm, which I only realize after the word has already left my mouth. 

 

“So,” Tamika continues, not seeming fazed, “She referred to a ‘hostage,’ which we assumed meant Cecil, her mother, and ‘our family’ so we can pretty much conclude that--”

 

“She’s Cecil’s niece,” I finish, ignoring the faint irritation on Tamika’s face. I turn around and address this to Dana, as she is clearly the one who likes me more. “Cecil said he had a niece. Janice, almost eleven years old. So you saw Janice… and did you say she was astrally projecting? You’ve figured out how to routinely leave your bodies?! I always wondered how that worked--”

 

“Uh, Carlos?” Dana reminds me. I get the hint. It takes me longer than I would like to get the hint.

 

“Right, so, um, probably Cecil is with his sister and niece now. We can… look for witnesses in town, people who might have seen them! Inquire about Abby’s house, her favorite getaways… how does that sound?” 

 

Tamika bends down and picks up a branch. She proceeds to break off half, hand it to Dana, and hoist her piece like a club. I resist the urge to cower and shriek, “What did I say?!”

 

“Your idea is a good one,” Tamika acknowledges, “But we have to be prepared for trouble. I don’t know how much of Night Vale belongs to the Smiling God now. For that matter, we have to be extremely cautious about who we ask, because we don’t want to lead anyone else to Cecil.”

 

I hadn’t even thought of that. I try to hide my embarrassed flush. 

 

“I think I may have a solution,” Dana offers. Tamika and I both stare at her. She seems a little off-put by our gazes, so I transfer my eyes to the ground in order to make her feel more comfortable. “We impersonate Sherrif’s Secret Police officers, and gain access to the Hall of Records. That will tell us where Abby Palmer lives, where she was last seen, and possibly any secret underground bunkers that she might have.”

 

“I like this idea,” Tamika says brightly, which tells me that this is probably extremely dangerous. Also… “Just how detailed  _ are _ these records?”

 

“Well, supposedly they contain everything about the citizen, from their childhood imaginary friend who then turned feral and burned down the house, to birthdays, death days, favorite smell, worst memory, things like that.”

 

“Oh,” I mumble, “Only that?” 

 

“But the Sheriff's Secret Police is only human, so we citizens know that they cannot get every detail of our lives. Which is why we’re supposed to be magnanimous and spend a day in the interrogation rooms once per month to divulge anything they may have missed.” Dana adds. I have no clue if any of this is real, but her face is entirely serious, so I will have to reluctantly conclude that it is.

 

“We just need black clothing that will cover us from head to toe, balaclavas, sunglasses, and false identification,” Tamika rattles off. “It shouldn’t be too difficult. I used to know a guy who made flawless I.D.s, for parties, you know. He got carted away for re-education fairly often, but that never stopped him. Anyway, the City Council agreed that the I.D.s were pretty cool to have at costume parties, ‘gives you real authenticity’ or some crap like that, and they let him continue. I hope he’s still around…”

 

Doing something that will bring me closer to fulfilling my new life goals is a lot better than standing around feeling confused about the universe, so I’m happy enough. I just hope I don’t die. This new world has way too much potential science to go unstudied.

 

**Cecil**

I am woken up by a cry of pain outside. I may be wrong, but it sounds oddly like the body of a grown man just fell on our roof. 

 

There is another large  _ thud _ , and then a lighter one, and a female-ish voice saying, “Oh for the love of… how hard was it to stay on the trail?”

 

“The entire cavern is made of shadows who got tired of the sunlight and decided to huddle together in one great mass,” another vaguely feminine (but I do not want to presume to know anything about a person I have not yet seen) utters. “It is nearly impossible not to fall. And besides… I believe we are in the right place.” 

 

I cautiously get to my feet. “Abby? We have visitors.” Haha, I have always wanted to say that! I missed my chance during that last alien invasion back in 2009. 

 

My family and I swiftly and with perfect calm grab knives, machine guns, and in Steve’s case, a rolling pin. Honestly, could he  _ be  _ anymore useless?

 

Someone knocks on the door. In my limited experience, potential assassins do not knock, but polite brainwashed soldiers of the Smiling God might.

 

Oh my… what if it’s Kevin on the other side? Am I prepared for that?

 

“Just warning you, if you step inside this door we will fill your entire body with bullets before carving out your heart for good measure. Just sayin.” This from my sister. 

 

And then. “Cecil? Cecil, are you in there?” 

 

“Put the gun down,” I snarl. “Carlos? How on earth… no, I don’t even care.” Ignoring the alarm on Abby and Janice’s faces, I fling open the door.

 

The multiverse’s most beautiful scientist staggers in, exhausted and shaking. Behind him, two young women appear, but I hardly notice. Carlos’ hair is ruffled, and he has a bruise on his temple. It does not detract from those gorgeous eyes, but it does fill me with murderous rage at the thought of the person who did this. 

 

My Carlos is here, now. If I weren’t a romantic at heart, I would think that this is all a cruel illusion created to emotionally cripple me, but as a reporter, I have had plenty of practice telling false visions from the real thing. This, I am 95% certain, is real. 

 

“I…” He starts. He stops. He then begins again. “I am glad you’re not dead. I would be really upset if you had died.” 

 

Behind him, the older girl puts her head in her hands despairingly. I cannot imagine why, because those are the  _ most amazing words I have ever heard _ . “Thanks,” I say. And because this conversation is already getting awkward, with both of us in a mild state of shock and uncertainty, I lean forward and hug him. I can do that now.

 

He responds by flinging his arms around me so tightly that I choke for a second, but who even cares? Carlos puts his head on my shoulder and leans against me, breathing hard. “I was so worried, and I was trying not to be worried, but I  _ was _ , so much that I barely even thought about science, I just wanted to find you,” he babbles. 

 

His hair is even softer than my unsatisfactory dreams. He smells like a combination of soap, smoke, and oddly, the unique blood/ooze/digestive fluids that coat the walls of the City Council building. 

 

I am grinning so hard, my face is in pain. I do not care about that either. Carlos is here, where I can touch him and hold him and talk to him without glass. Finally,  _ finally _ , something good has happened today, proving that our existences are fluid things that sometimes give us cause to despair, and other times fill us with joy. 

  
Thank you, existence. I really did need the ‘joy’ part right about now. 


	13. Planning. Also, Explanations.

 

**Dana**

 

I am given a chair and a bowl of stew. I almost cry. Seriously, my eyes well with tears that I blink furiously back, as I take a bite of lukewarm, poorly cooked vegetables. It’s wonderful. I had almost forgotten food, immersed as I was in memories of my family and friends, as well as fear and despair. 

 

Cecil, I notice, makes a point of grimacing as he eats. Carlos, our scientist, more Cecil’s than ours, sits alongside him, stealing glances when he thinks that Cecil is not looking his way. Their eyes meet once, and neither looks away until Janice giggles, with glee and great volume. 

 

I cannot get enough of looking at people. Everyone is so  _ beautiful _ , with their clear, unbrainwashed eyes and their kind expressions. Not smiles. No smiles. 

 

Tamika tells our story over dinner, waving her hands elaborately, her voice rising and falling and sometimes becoming nearly silent. Really, this only happens a couple of times. When she mentions her parents. 

 

I contribute little to her speech. I could, I suppose. I tell them, when I am asked directly, how I was taken. 

 

I do not like to re-live it. I give them the spine, the skull, and the arm bones, and leave out the rest. 

 

I remember.

 

Shaking. Headaches. Not being able to speak, not the words I wanted to say. Withdrawing from the world. My mother putting her hand on my forehead and calling me her baby girl. 

 

Maureen asking me, her voice uncharacteristically worried, if anything was wrong… why wouldn’t I look at her?

 

I do not want to cry. I want the hollowness in my chest to be filled. 

 

“I cannot fu um,” Abby stops, glancing at her daughter, and begins again. “I cannot believe you outsmarted my brother’s creature. You actually  _ damaged  _ it. Do you know how many nights I’ve stayed up, agonizing on the best way to torture that  _ thing _ ?”

 

“ _ Your brother’s creature? _ ” Tamika asks sharply, which reminds me that I have not yet told her everything I know. Who Kevin is, or was, and why Cecil and Abby and perhaps Janice as well are currently the most important people in the world. Because they are, in a sense, the closest the Smiling God has to family. Cecil and Abby are the siblings of its father. Its creator. 

 

This is why I wanted to find them. I did want to help Carlos. I don’t lie, not really. I do not like to. I sometimes hide things, but that is different. I think it is different. 

 

“Uh, Abby, I know the Smiling God is a being of unspeakable evil and I too hate it beyond all words, including the word hate that I just used, but the term “ _ thing _ ” lends itself to prejudice against other, less malevolent eldritch beasts from the center of the void. No need to use speciesist language.” 

 

This is from Cecil. I nod approvingly at him.

 

Carlos seems a little confused by everything, and also delighted by all that confuses him. 

 

“Explain,” Tamika commands. Abby Palmer (or is it Carlsberg? Her husband seems...you know, nice enough… but she does not seem the sort of person who would change her surname because of a worn-out tradition) is nearly three decades older than her, and not human, but this is Tamika Flynn. The librarian slayer, the would be-god killer, if this god were killable. Abby starts explaining.

 

“So it’s like this,” Abby says flatly. “Cecil and I are millennia old gods from before this earth was even born, and our brother, our Kevin, got lonely when we moved to Night Vale permanently. So he shaped the Smiling God, which proceeded to possess him, force him to nearly kill Cecil, who in turn drowned him in self-defense, hence the murderer’s marks… and yes, I noticed you noticing. Kevin is now entirely under that  _ thing’s _ __ Yes Cecil, I said ‘thing,’ don’t give me that look control. And it’ll probably be coming to obliterate us in oh, 24 hours if we’re lucky. Two days if we’re really lucky. Don’t look so hopeful, Dana. Luck is a crapshoot. Of course, I can’t die, but I’m pretty sure I can still be tortured for a couple of millennia before this material body dissipates.”

 

There is a long, meaningful silence. It is broken by Cecil, voice filled with the bitterness and fear that Abby succeeded in hiding. “You spent a lot more time building up to it when you told me our story, Abby.”

 

“Sorry, Ceec.” She is sorry. I can tell. Sorry the situation has come to this, not sorry for what she has done. “No time. I believe I stressed that. We might have been able to stay hidden for longer on our own, but with two escaped prisoners and a newcomer who could potentially change the entire game, or at least has already made the god very annoyed ” She glances at Carlos. “ well, that’s not happening. No offense,” she adds, for the benefit of Tamika and myself. 

Personally, I believe that we will win. This is not based on any fact. It is an idea constructed from blind optimism and the desire to live. 

 

I will believe it. Because, if I am killed, after all this, at least I can maintain a state of peace, of the closest to joy that I may ever be in the time I have left. 

 

Time. Back in the Smiling World, it was endless. It was eternity.

 

I forgot how quickly it slips through my fingers. I prefer it this way. I want….

 

But no. I will not weep for want of what I still do not have. I will live. I will eat Steve Carlsberg’s sub-par food, and share in this newfound camaraderie. 

 

And then it ends. Somehow, something will end. 

 

**Cecil**

 

I do not enjoy discussing the best way to kill things. Even things I now utterly despise, you know? It’s depressing. It fills me with emotions that are unlike me. 

 

Of course, according to Dana, we cannot kill the Smiling God. It’s… it’s not bad that just a small, miniscule really, part of me is relieved, is it? 

 

If we cannot save my brother, I am certain that part will vanish entirely. 

 

“I have an idea,” Carlos says suddenly. We all look sideways at him, me with gentle adoration ( _ subtle  _ adoration) and everyone else with faint skepticism. 

 

“No offense...Carlos... but you’re new here. How long have you been in Night Vale? In our universe for that matter?”

 

“Well… about 12 hours, but you said we didn’t have long. And I think I could help. I mean… I am kind of trained to do…” He trails off, which I am fairly certain is due to my sister’s intimidating stare.

 

“You can finish,” Janice informs him. 

 

“I thought it was interesting,” Tamika agrees, with what sounds like a faint amount of sarcasm, but I could be wrong, because she leans forward and nods meaningfully at Carlos. He smiles (perfect teeth) and says “...impossible things. So, my idea. We cannot kill this god. I admit that I am still astounded that gods are real. I have difficulty believing that I am in the presence of them at this very minute.”

 

Right. We should probably talk about that at some point before we die writhing in agony. Preferably alone. In a nice wooded place, with a view overlooking the sunset.

 

“Cecil’s house, from what I can figure, had become some sort of gateway to the Smiling God’s reality, which I accidentally ended up in, as Dana and Tamika already told you--”

 

“And he saved our lives,” Dana puts in. Carlos blushes, and continues.

 

“Yes, uh, and I saved them. Accidentally. I mean, I’m a scientist, not some superhero or… right. So, my point is, could we or could we not lure the Smiling God into the world we are currently in, evacuate the brainwashed victims from the sphere it inhabits, force the Smiling God  _ back  _ into its domain, and block every possible opening between said domain and our own, so that it is essentially forced to spend a probable eternity in a trap of its own making?”

 

Silence all around. 

 

“It’s just a possibility. I’m open to suggestions!” 

 

“We would need to solve the mirror thing,” Tamika mutters. “We can’t exactly destroy every looking glass in the world, though I am sure we could convince the City Council to outlaw them in Night Vale. Or possibly the mayor.”

 

“The mayor stepped down last year,” Abby murmurs, still in thought.

 

“Wonderful. I missed fucking everything.”

 

“And  _ that _ is a valuable memory in the swear jar,” Janice tells her. 

 

“I think… that it is a  _ fabulous  _ idea. We can do that!” I say.

 

“Oh really, ‘lure the Smiling God into our world,’ how perilous is that going to be? Who wants to volunteer for probable annihilation?” This is from Steve. I throw every dark emotion that I have into the scowl that I send in his direction.

 

“The Smiling God, as we have established, is searching for us as we speak. We have… what was it Abby? Twenty-four hours if we’re lucky? Two days if we’re blessedly fortunate? All we have to do is trick it, force it to over-exert its hellish powers, get it to manifest itself in one place in its entirety. We can  _ totally  _ do that! Meanwhile we use the apparent portal in my house that I was not aware of to rescue all of the god’s victims,  _ including _ our brother. Really,  _ Steve _ , this plan is foolproof!”

 

“Well,” Carlos starts, “I wouldn’t call it  _ foolproof _ . And I do not want anyone getting hurt on my account--” 

 

“I like it,” Abby grins at him. “Congrats, Mr. Scientist. You have proved your usefulness. You are now worthy to date my brother.”

 

I have to press my hands and tentacles together to prevent myself from throttling her.  _ Not in front of Janice and Carlos _ , I remind myself.  _ There’s always later _ . 

 

**Carlos**

 

I am doing my best not to feel self-satisfied. I am.

 

But we are using my proposal. I am not just examining bits of previously unknown insect life forms under a microscope because of the sheer fact that it’s  _ awesome _ . I am saving lives. I am  _ hopefully  _ saving lives. 

 

And the way Cecil defended me… am I blushing? I better not be blushing. I will be furious if I am blushing. I think that if I was blushing, it’s gone now. Good.

 

“Who wants what task?” Abby inquires brightly. 

 

“I have the most familiarity with the world of the Smiling God… so I will be our guide in releasing those people,” Dana offers. She sounds reluctant, but also certain.

 

“I’ll do the luring  _ back  _ in,” Tamika says. I figure that she is the only person brave enough to risk being trapped, again, with the Smiling God. “I’m likely the one it hates the most, so it’s practical. Plus, I want to see the horror on its non-face when we imprison it there.” 

 

_ Typical _ , I think, although I’ve known her for such a brief period of time that I could not say if this is true or not.

 

“I,” Cecil speaks up, “Will totally be the bait while everyone saves those poor souls!”

 

Oh. Oh  _ hell no _ . This wasn’t what I intended. Not Cecil in the most danger of anyone. No, no. Damn it Carlos, why do you never think things through?!

 

“I volunteer to be the bait alongside you!” is what comes out of my mouth next. Because clearly all sense of self preservation has utterly deserted me.

 

What have I gotten myself into?


	14. The Night Before

**Cecil**

 

It feels good for everyone to be working together. Even if we are to die hideously tomorrow, blood oozing from our eyes, organs liquified, skin burned beyond recognition.....

 

I decide to end this line of thinking. It would probably be wise to stop saying this out loud to Carlos, as his perfect skin has begun to pale upon learning of all of the ways that we will likely be murdered. 

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Nope, no, it’s fine, I did ask what you were thinking! I take responsibility for my questions!” 

“That is very noble of you.” 

 

We both pause. I wonder if Carlos thought I was being sarcastic. I wonder what I will look like with my face seared away. 

 

He and I are alone, except for Khoshekh, who is sitting on the floor and hissing discontentedly. From what I can gather, he is not fond of caverns. That makes two of us, kitty. 

 

Abby, Steve and Janice are in the kitchen having ‘family time,’ which ordinarily I would join, but given Abby’s conspiratorial wink and Steve’s not-at-all subtle thumbs up, accompanied by a post-it inscribed CECIL+CARLOS 4 LIFE, I thought it wisest to remain here. 

 

Dana and Tamika, I am fairly sure, are appraising weapons and also playing Clue, which Dana said she really missed during her year or so as a captive of the Smiling God. 

 

“So…”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“....”

 

“You do not have to follow me.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“As bait. You know, I volunteered, you volunteered? Well, that was great, and I appreciated it, but I kind of got the impression that you were doing it just to be altruistic, and that is wonderful, but do not feel pressured. Placing your body and soul in mortal peril should be a conscientious decision, something that should only be attempted once you are fully  _ ready _ . Are you following me, Carlos?” 

 

Carlos blinks his beautiful, doe-like mahogany...no, umber...no, mocha...his to-be-determined brown eyes, and says, “Thanks for telling me all this, but really I would like to keep you safe in any way that I can. So I will admit to feeling absolutely, beyond all words terrified, but when all is said and done, I will be by your side tomorrow.”

 

I scramble for the perfect romantic comeback. Something to express how...touched I am, that he cares so much. In the entirety of my….apparently long life...as far as I know, given my memory issues...no man has ever done so much for me. 

 

_ I will definitely, absolutely, not say… _

 

“Neat,” I manage, then proceed to put my face in my hands. “I, ah, mean...thank you. So much. Words do not…But I will try. Carlos...I do not actually know your last name. I am just now realizing that this is probably something I should have asked about earlier.” 

 

He cheeks turn a soft shade of pink. “And that is because I technically do not have one. I mean, I do, obviously, everyone has a surname, well most people, well,  _ many  _ people, I do not want to make generalizations. I dropped it when I was working with another scientist who had the same last name as me, and everyone would mix up which reports we’d written. Anyway. I prefer Carlos. The other name is simply a gift from a family who did not understand the value of science.” 

 

Beyond his words are a story, a life lived decades ago, filled with disappointment and the loneliness that comes with  _ different _ . Inside that brilliant, scientific, selfless mind are Carlos’ justifications. Reasons for his name. Reasons that led to his choice to investigate every unknown and unknowable particle that make up the world as Carlos perceives it. Reasons for standing next to me, at this moment, which will pass soon, but will also endure as a fleck of dust in the vacuum that we futily strive to control by calling it “time.” 

 

His motives are his own to share. He is here. He will face a monster for my sake. 

 

“Carlos. Incredible, brave, utterly wonderful Carlos.” I reach out and touch his face. He breathes out, quietly, and does not move. His skin is soft beneath my fingers. 

 

Hesitatingly, I extend a tentacle and wrap it around his shoulders. Carlos squirms, and I withdraw, fighting utter mortification. 

 

“No, no, that’s fine Cecil. I was...it was nice. Your suction disks tickled me.” Smiling, he strokes one black tentacle. I swallow. 

 

“Carlos?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You have great hair.”

 

“You have a magnificent voice. And, eyes. All three of your eyes are...Really, I like everything. I like  _ you _ , Cecil.” 

 

I press my forehead to his. His voice has gotten quite soft, and he is staring intently at me, so I think...I mean, I am pretty sure I can assume…

 

And he kisses me. 

 

For a moment, I am only a tangle of joy and relief and hope. My heart is beating, and I am flushed and suddenly my existence has become compressed, so there is no fear, no confusion, no pain. There are Carlos’ warm lips against my own, my arms wrapped around him, one hand in his hair, his fingers cupping my face. 

 

There is word that I want to say to him now, which will have to wait until we are done kissing (though I would honestly be fine if time were to collapse right now and leave us in a glorious embrace). The word is probably too soon. It might be too soon. This does not invalidate its accuracy. 

 

But, it also does not really need to be said. 

 

**Carlos**

 

If I were going to translate this into a sentence, using the science necessary to change actions into phonetic messages, which honestly is one of the easiest sciences to learn, then my kissing him now, that would be:

 

I...am fairly positive...I love you. 

 

I suspect he knows. 

 

Oh Ceci. If I die tomorrow, or am brainwashed, or imprisoned… this, truly, is not the worst trade off I could have made. 

 

Because those things are mere possibilities which may never be, but this is the two of us, and my chest is alive with elation (even if the emotion is in fact in my brain), and I would not choose differently. 

 

And I decide, no. I will not let this begining be an end. Instead, I will science the hell out of this Smiling God, and then I am going on a date with Cecil. No, many dates. I will go on many dates with Cecil. 

 

When it comes down to it, Cecil is the strangest man I’ve ever met. Which is perfect. I love strange. I  _ am  _ strange. 

 

We will be a ridiculous, over-enthusiastic, completely amazing couple. And  _ no  _ evil eldritch gods with delusions of grandeur will prevent this from happening. Not at all. 

 


	15. Distractor Guys

**Kevin**

 

It thinks I do not know who they are.

 

The rebels. The heretics. The  _ damned ones _ .

 

That sentence, my statement that it, he, she, they, all, is not aware of the inner workings of my head…

 

Preposterous. Blasphemous. No less the truth. Even with my love, my worship, I  _ can  _ see that. I am not the entirety of it, it is not the entirety of me, we are bound but not one, not completely. 

 

I feel kind of bad about this. I could be making more of an effort. 

 

_ Smile harder, Kevin. Stretch your lips. Expose your sharpened teeth. Smile.  _

 

I know. 

 

Abby, not short for Abigail. Just Abby. 

 

Cecil. No correspondence to a larger name. 

 

Big sister. Little brother, by a few minutes back when minutes had no meaning, were unconceived of, were simply events stacked upon each other in a linear order, for the most part.  _ Minutes _ . 

 

It would like to eat their souls.

 

My soul has pieces missing where my son has taken bites.

 

I have no options.

 

I do not want options.

 

It is going to eat their souls. I will probably watch. I will probably cut open Cecil’s wrists and lap blood from his veins. 

 

I ponder the exact taste of my brother’s blood. 

 

The part of me which is my son, my lord, the Smiling God, which is most of me, is cheerful. 

 

I am always cheerful.

 

I believe that I am always cheerful.

 

I see no reason for me not to be always cheerful.

 

I would prefer to remain always cheerful.

 

The sliver of me that was unchanged is screaming. Or weeping. They sound too much alike. 

 

There are more of them. Dana, whom I trusted, who betrayed me, who betrayed  _ it _ . I’m hurt, Dana. Truly, I had faith in you. Your teeth will make an excellent necklace, Dana.

 

Tamika. Well. Ta-mi-ka. I  _ knew  _ you were disaster. I saw the cataclysm in your eyes, and I told it to hold you, and it failed. The venture failed. This makes me doubt myself. I feel uncomfortable with self-doubt. It is unhealthy, I feel. You did that. I will ask it not to bestow its blessing upon you. You. Are. Not. Worthy.

 

Ignominious, excruciating, extremely drawn out execution for you. I plan on making some delicious grilled cheese sandwiches to snack on while I watch. Seeing another’s skin slowly burned and peeled away to expose the tender, pulsating organs beneath tends to make me rather peckish. 

 

The scientist who pried those two irritating girls from you. From it. It’s easy to slip into addresses to my God. 

 

Anyway, I am fairly certain that Cecil likes him, so I’m sure that the Smiling God, in all its benevolence, will simply fill the scientist’s mind with a deep sense of respect and fondness for the God’s cause. The scientist might find it difficult to speak of anything else. He may have a hard time loving Cecil in a way that is his own, and will find it simpler to love Cecil with the infinite and unforgiving love that the Smiling God feels towards all.

 

I am an authority on this subject. I love every sentient being in every sentient world. I could just messily tear out millions upon billions of hearts and keep them on imaginary silver platters and chew on the ventricles and giggle.

 

Steve and Janice will be the same as the scientist, but slightly more beloved, because they are family.

 

Abby cannot be killed.

 

No worries there! 

 

Cecil does not die like a human. Is not dying constantly like a human, except he is, which is confusing. 

 

I look forward to reconnecting with my siblings. I have missed them so. 

 

**Cecil**

 

“Clear on what to do?” Abby inquires. I roll my eyes and sigh to indicate the stupidity of her question. I also squeeze Carlos’ hand, because I can do that now. 

 

“Absolutely,” Carlos assures her. I hug Janice, the because of which being that there is a low probability, only around 52% (Carlos tells me, though it could range between 48 and 60) that I will not see her again. 

 

She clings to my neck. “Be careful, Uncle Cecil.” 

 

“You too,” although she is not going to take part in this mission. She will remain with Steve, despite her protests and his own. 

 

They are leaving, with Khoshekh in accompaniment. Officially, they are our backup, should myself, Carlos, Abby, Dana, and Tamika fail. 

 

Unofficially, Janice is ten, Steve cannot fight, and Khoshekh is an innocent feline. Unofficially, we would opt for one fragment of our team, which is the larger umbrella that stands over the Palmer-Carlsberg family, to remain alive. 

 

“Are you okay?” Carlos whispers in my ear, which causes a chill to run down my spine, because  _ hello _ . Ear. Whispering. 

 

“Nope,” I say, choosing to reveal the truth to him. “But really, when is anyone?”

 

**Tamika**

 

I count my weapons. 

They won’t help me, but they are a comfort. 

 

I want everything to just start already. I want to be in the middle of the fight. 

 

**Dana**

 

Do not forget your role in all of this. Dana, you can save them. You can save them all.

 

I don’t want to go back there. My body is arrested with the dread of returning, I am trembling without the ability to stop, I am biting my lip to prevent myself from shrieking “No, no, NO! Turn around, I cannot...I have  _ escaped _ , why can’t be over for me, I’ve done enough!!”

 

I am quiet in the back seat as we head back to Cecil’s house.

 

**Carlos**

 

You know what? I bet this will all be very educational, and will answer many of my questions on theology, matter, and exactly how much terror is required to transform a person into a different individual entirely. 

 

It’s for science. Imagine that it’s for science. I’d do anything for science. 

 

**Cecil**

 

“Hello listeners. Yes, I am aware that this is not an official broadcast, stop glancing back and silently judging me, Abby. I am recording a radio show. Well, not a full program, just a brief segment meant to record this exciting chapter in my life and provide reassurance to those whom I care about most.

 

“Uh, Tamika and Dana, you seem extremely pleasant, and I deeply admire your courageous natures, but as we have only just met, I can’t go so far as to rank you among my family and my new boyfriend.”

 

Carlos: Aw, you don’t have to put me up there with your sister, I know we just started officially dating yesterday.

 

“Dear Carlos, I would put you at the top of any list, provided that it is a list of all that is beautiful and precious in this world.”

 

Abby: Kill me, kill me now, Smiling God. 

 

Tamika: Get in line, lady. 

 

“ _ Anyway _ . I want to call out to everyone in this ill-fated Suburban. You all, we all, are putting our lives on the line for the greater good. Ordinarily, I would advocate remaining in our homes with our soft, comfortable sheets pulled over our heads, possibly with some meditative music playing in the background to drown out the wails of the forsaken. But our homes have been invaded. Our very  _ beings  _ have been invaded. I know, this is just a summary of everything that you have already experienced. I reiterate it now to remind you that we were faced with a terror that threatened to engulf us, and  _ we did not give in to it _ . 

 

“We are not hiding. We are looking this beast in the place where it presumably has eyes, and we acknowledge all that it has taken from us...our brother...our friends...our parents...our freedom...our sense of self…

 

“And we will tell it:  _ no more _ .

 

“Don’t you feel it? The swell of pride in our own bravery, frightening though it is, futile though it may be? 

 

“As the once-voice of Night Vale...no, as  _ the  _ voice of Night Vale, for it was I who gave Night Vale its voice, I am telling all of you…

 

“Lean back. Immerse yourself in the world that is made more vivid by what could be. Happiness is difficult at moments like these, so do not force it upon yourselves. Simply allow for one last bright memory, to be a comfort, however small, just in case.” 

*

 

Carlos and I go inside first. Dana, Abby and Tamika will await our signal.

 

Our signal will consist of loud cries, followed by “Don’t even...haha...have to get closer than that, asshole!” Or some variant. 

 

Our steps are slow, dragging, reluctant. Carlos is trembling in a way that is meant to hide itself from me. I regret so many things right now. Mainly I regret bringing him here. 

 

I take a moment, just one, to stare at his caring face, that determined mouth, those large and fierce eyes, the beautiful dark curls. He stares back, kisses me quickly, (his lips are warm and his teeth click against mine) and as he strokes my faces, he says, “I’m so sorry.”

 

“What?” 

 

And he pins my arms behind my back. My tentacles are free of course, but I am taken by complete surprise. I miss the opportunity to do anything but collapse as he injects me with some sort of toxin or sedative. I miss the opportunity to do anything but collapse and let my eyes fill with betrayed tears. 

 

“Carlos...I thought..”

 

“I had to, Cecil. It will destroy me, unless I give it what it wants. ISN’T THAT RIGHT!” He directs his shout towards the light seeping through the walls, under the floorboards, inside my house all along. 

 

“I, Carlos the scientist, would like to go home. And so, I am handing over your prisoner. He was only ever one large, not terribly fascinating experiment. I won’t lose my life for him.”

Carlos clears his throat. “And, uh, do not even get me started on his make out skills…”

 

“I trusted you,” I mouth as the walls and floors fall away. I tilt my head towards the gaping hole in reality, and the monstrous shape emerging.

 

“Cecil?” My brother says.

 

This was not our plan. It was not supposed to be him.

 

“Cecil! Oh wow, it’s so great to see you here, in person, not in your head or dreams! Our Great Smiling Lord listened when I told it that I wanted to be the one to greet you, and… I did think the circumstances would be better. Did you just break up with my brother?” 

 

Carlos sputters. Kevin and I are identical in appearance, except for the absence of tentacles and the addition of obsidian black eyes. 

 

I did not anticipate that he would recognize me. 

 

Kevin shakes a finger at Carlos. “Now that is just rude! And to think that I was going to ask it to bless you!” He grins, and now I can see the blood stains on his teeth. “Son! This man has hurt Uncle Cecil! Obliterate him!”

 

**You do not command me, Kevin. But I do approve of that idea. It’s a good one. Still, I think “obliterate” is a little too merciful.**

 

Carlos utters a wordless cry as the Smiling God, or a reflection of it, or a piece of it, a being that does not seem to be quite  _ whole _ , but is nevertheless made of harsh edges and the smell of rotting flesh and the core of the sun materializes. The process is instantaneous. It is here. This is it.  _ This is it. _

 

I am not drugged, by the way. Carlos’ syringe was filled with tap water. 

 

My new boyfriend clenches his fists. Not because he is going to hit anyone. Just for the sensation, the impression of being able to struggle.

 

I must now decide when is appropriate to help him. Doing so will reveal that this was all an elaborate trap, but the Smiling God may already suspect that. And the only thing that I can help Carlos do is run. 

 

Unless...but I have been the approximation of a human being for years now. I would not know where to start.

 

“Tell me,” Carlos chokes out, “Why exactly a creature that calls itself a god so confuses destruction with creation.”

 

**Let me touch you, frail scientist, and you will understand.**

  
Now. Definitely now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am once again sorry for the long wait between chapters. Finals kind of stole all my energy for a while. Updates will probably be sporadic, but this story has officially reached its climax, so there shouldn't be much further to go. Thanks for all the sweet comments so far!


	16. Behind Enemy Lines

**Abby**

 

The waiting around part is just irritation mixed with suppressed anxiety. 

 

This was not supposed to take long. Seriously, five minutes. Ten, tops. Cecil and Carlos draw the god out, we go in. How difficult is that?

 

“Fifteen minutes, what the hell are they doing?” Tamika asks, a second before we hear the wailing. 

 

“Now,” Tamika and I growl simultaneously, which is frustrating, because who is this kid who’s undermining my authority here? 

 

Dana immediately begins chanting. I lay the bloodstones around us in what I hope is a perfect circle. It looks right to me, but I had to visit the optometrist before the Smiling God started using reflective surfaces as spiderwebs meant to entangle the innocent, wicked, and anyone in-between, so who’s to say how precise my vision is?

 

_ You are a goddess, Abby. Time to act like it. A goddess doesn’t worry about the effectiveness of her rituals. A goddess looks ahead, is eternally looking ahead, because she  _ knows  _ every challenge, every apparent defeat, will eventually reconfigure into victory for her. You’re a goddess. Time moves  _ around  _ you. Your bloodstones are fine, stop being neurotic and get a fucking move on things.  _

 

At least my daughter isn’t here. Steve will protect our little girl with his life. I know it, even Cecil knows it. 

 

Back to the bloodstones. 

 

“Mirror spell” is a pretty easy enchantment to cast. Most Night Vale children learnt it a few years back when we had a gorgon outbreak. Consequently, the resulting snake-haired female statues were in fervent demand as garden decorations. 

 

I can sense the layers to reality, fractured, scrambling desperately over each other, determined to prevail. The Smiling God’s world, connected with tenuous threads to my brother’s house, but the best connection we have, because it is not simply a sinkhole. It can, with a little mojo, be turned into a tunnel. 

 

That scientist managed it. He gave us the calculations that he used, and then had to explain, slowly, what each of the numbers meant. Something about atoms, worms,  _ Einstein  _ (whom we all know was a famous stand-up comedian, so why the hell was Carlos babbling so much about him?) and such. 

 

Anyway. 

 

Light. Unadulterated, nothing but a whiteness that stretches until it seems to fill everything, the sky, the air around us, leeching away color and shades and leaving only…

 

Dana makes a broken sound. The part of me that is a mother longs to comfort her, but really, I can’t imagine anything I’d say. Other than,  _ “You are so brave.”  _ But she knows that. How can she not?

 

“And now we do our very best not to die,” Tamika says instead, and we clasp hands and leap. 

 

**Cecil**

 

Okay. So striking an enormous, incomprehensible being with a blender might not have been my most ingenious idea. 

 

It was the weapon closest to my hand, all right?

 

It’s not that I truly thought it would  _ do  _ anything. I just needed to turn its eyes on me, so that Carlos would have a chance to do some practical and much appreciated science. 

 

I accidentally brush against its skin. The next moment I fall away, choking on ashes, my arm beginning to blister. 

 

“For heaven’s sake, Cecil ” Kevin begins, and is then cut off by Carlos’ timely attack. My dear, sweet, pacifistic Carlos throws a plastic bottle at the Smiling God. It does not appear to do anything. Probably because of its surface nature. 

 

The God hisses, twitches irritably.  **Was that supposed to hurt? Stupid mortal, useless to all whom you care about. Railing against the tides, knowing that you will never….**

 

“Do not presume to insult my boyfriend!” I snarl, mentally counting down from thirty and placing my hands over my ears. Carlos grabs my arm and clutches it, so that I can absorb his fear and tenderness and nervous anticipation. 

 

The most practical thing to do right now is flee. That was the plan. It was an impractical, idealistic plan, but nevertheless we should try to follow it to the best of our abilities, lest we invalidate the very purpose of strategizing. 

 

Except the Smiling God is more vast than either of us truly acknowledged or understood. It is not in my house, it is a presence that consumes the house. Like, how in the hell did I not sense it before? If Dana and Tamika had not weakened it when they did, I would have lost all sense of myself by this point.

 

Anyway, it’s not going to let us leave again. Additionally my twin brother is here. I wish I could warn him. Sorry, Kevin. You were...are...have been in times past...a good brother. 

 

And thirty.

 

The dry ice bomb explodes. Much of my living room becomes airborne. Carlos throws his hands over his ears, face clenched in pain. Really, it’s not that terrible; I mean, the despairing shrieks that occur during especially beautiful sunsets are louder. 

 

I am thrown to the floor, as are Carlos and Kevin. We fall in collective harmony. 

 

The Smiling God cries out. Hopefully it is in mortal pain, though I doubt it. The cold should be highly unpleasant, perhaps even agonizing, but nowhere close to fatal.

 

It takes Carlos a moment to speak. When he does, his voice trembles, and it seems that he is having difficulty hearing himself. 

 

“Okay, so I actually lied. Sorry. Except no, not really.” Carlos winces. “I don’t know how to do witty combat dialogue,” he mutters to me. 

 

I smile at him to let him know that he is doing absolutely fine (nothing says that I have to be entirely honest in our new relationship) and announce, “Would you be interested in knowing why we lured you here?”

 

**I would be interested in dissecting you slowly and feeding your wriggling organs to Kevin.**

 

I put on a decent show of getting to my feet and smirking as if I am not entirely quaking in my (violet) boots. I clear my throat, going over all the options available to me. Distract the Smiling God. Draw it out, so that my sister can liberate its prisoners. Protect Carlos, who by all rights should not be here. Stay alive. When it comes down to it, which of these do I value the most? 

 

There is no more time, if there ever was. 

 

“Now, this doesn’t have to be ugly! I only wanted to say that I, Cecil Palmer, challenge you, grinning creature from the void, to a time-honored, traditional duel. Winner gets Night Vale, and presumably the rest of the universe. As I am clearly the more polite party, I’ll let you have the first move.”

 

**Dana**

 

The heat is less oppressive now, but the smell of burnt flesh lingers.

 

“Okay, where do we start?” Abby asks me. I suppose I do know it best.

 

“It’s a large place.” I remind her. Full of pitfalls and false exits. The corrupted flock together, comparing experiences and inventing new prayers. The ones who are like I was, uncompromised, mostly keep to themselves. Out of sight, in the corners.

 

We spoke about this, what we would do once we...once  _ I  _ returned to this hellscape, but my thoughts begin to blur. My legs tremble. My vision is blurring. I cannot breathe. All I perceive is  _ bow down  _ and  _ let go  _ and  _ burn _ . Words, images, too much to handle STOP IT DANA.

 

Abby has put her arm around my shoulders, though I cannot remember the exact moment it happened. She holds me briefly, then releases me. “Dana, there’s before, and there’s now. Only one of them is important. I say this as a deity of  _ memory _ . I see how they cling to you, but they are not relevant to  _ now _ . We are ending the reign of a monster, and saving a whole hell of a lot of people. That’s now. That’s it.”

 

“It should be easier, but you don’t forget,” Tamika mouths. I watch her lips move, but she does not voice the declaration. 

 

No, I will not forget, but I will use that fear (that damn fear that has become a part of me) to… oh. Oh no. A woman is approaching. The three of us freeze, suddenly unsure of ourselves, unsure of this stranger, unsure how this will play out. 

 

She is getting closer, and when she is a few yards away I recognize her. 

 

It’s Lauren. 

 

“Dana? We all thought you had chosen to become one with the Great God. What are you doing here...with two individuals who look….annoyingly difficult to break.” Lauren advances, her smile unsuccessful at hiding the malice beneath. 

 

“Hold it there, lady,” Tamika says, displaying her dully gleaming sword. She had insisted on having it exposed and ready, despite my protests about the innocence of these brainwashed people. Now, faced with Lauren, I no longer feel like protesting. “We’re not one with any demon that calls itself a god. We’re here to liberate you all, whether you’re currently capable of understanding that or not.”

 

Lauren, I now realize, is holding a brick in each hand. She ignores Tamika, focusing on me. “It was downright  _ rude _ what you did earlier, Dana. That  _ hurt _ . We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends tell each other when one of them hurts the other. Friends also share everything, including pain.” The frightening part of this exchange is not the bricks, now hoisted high over head.

 

It’s the brilliant, unchanging grin, and the flat dead eyes. 

 

“No.” Abby is extremely calm. “You won’t.” Lauren swings at her, and Abby ducks and picks up Lauren as if she is not a tall, adult woman. 

 

She touches Lauren’s forehead with one hand. “ **Remember.** ” 

 

Lauren convulses. She gasps and chokes. Then she abruptly begins to weep. 

  
  


**Carlos**

 

I can only stand there as my new boyfriend and a being that is hideous beyond the reach of even a scientist’s imagination circle each other. 

 

“Cecil, don’t, I…” A hand grasps the back of my neck, and I shriek with alarm. This would probably be more embarrassing if I am not currently fearing for Cecil’s life and the sanity that is a significant part of his life. 

 

“Little scientist,” Kevin whispers in my ear. His fingernails are sharp and scraping and feel as if they are covered in  _ something  _ that’s rubbing off on my skin. “Carlos. Carlos. Carlos. I don’t know what I should do with you. I truly don’t.” 

 

I want to cry out for Cecil, but he is in the midst of what seems to be deep concentration, and the Smiling God is leaking towards him (is that the proper word, leaking? Sliding? Pooling like acid?) and I cannot, I will not, be responsible for Cecil losing his focus at such a critical moment.

 

What was he thinking?  _ What?  _ How can he win this? Is he assuming that being in terrible danger will awaken his dormant godhood? 

 

I never thought the phrase “dormant godhood” would cross my mind. Ordinarily when things cross my mind that I could not fathom would ever cross my mind I am in the middle of a scientific discovery. It’s usually a moment for celebration. 

 

The fingers tighten. Not enough pressure to strangle me, but enough to make me wince. “Kevin. That’s what you call yourself? He’s your brother. He told me about you, how you used to dress alike, travel together, appear on each other’s radio programs.”

 

“Of course,” Kevin replies, sounding surprised that I would even feel the need to bring this up. “I love Cecil.”

 

“So do I.” I cannot say any more, because Kevin throws his other arm around my middle, pulling me close, and places his hand strategically over my mouth. I do not whimper. I completely, do not whimper. 

 

Maybe just a little. 


	17. Survivors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the super long interval between updates! I'm finally back on track with this fic.

**Cecil**

 

I silently come to terms with my own mortality. I resolve myself to pain, to loss of limb and life and soul. 

 

Behind me, Carlos whimpers. I want very, very badly to turn and see if he is all right. But turning right now is deadly. Looking away will cost me everything. 

 

I...I might soon cease to be an “I” in any physical sense. Do gods even have the comfort of oblivion, or must we continue on, as fragments of individuals, semi-conscious of what we once were? 

 

The Smiling God is reaching out. It is touching me. It is placing its hands, more gently than I would have thought it capable, on my shoulders. Is this a trick? Is this--

 

AAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 

_ STOOOOOOOOOOP _

 

Well….that was more painful than I’d expected. 

 

Was it?

 

What was I...duel, yes, a duel. Something...why were we fighting? Why did I believe I could win?

 

Nothing makes sense anymore and it is...so painful. My entire head. Every thought is the weight of a world. Stars are burning and dying as the universe inside me crumbles. 

 

A voice drifts through the fog, and though it is so very, very small compared to the agony, and me, and the gaping smile that hangs in front of me, motionless and yet…  _ swallowing _ . Biting down and chewing. Is it me? Is it eating me?

 

“Cecil,” the voice whispers. It is exhausted and it trembles faintly. “It isn’t…” The voice is cut off and I hear a muffled cry and then a vague sound like meat slapping against a countertop or a flailing limb by chance striking bone. 

 

“....scientifically possible to steal memories or personality. Don’t you see it’s only repressing the true you?  _ Let go of me Kevin, I am trying to keep hold of your brother’s sanity here! _

 

“Cecil Gershwin Palmer. It  _ can’t _ destroy you. You are ” 

 

He falls silent. I cannot tell what has happened. But, this voice, this plea that my aching, struggling heart latches on to has told me all that  I need to hear. 

 

Get  _ up _ , Cecil, get up. 

 

I get up. 

 

I open my eyes, all three of them. And then I continue, open eye after eye, each corresponding to a different part of me, flinching away from the light that shines harshly down. 

 

**Your Move.**

 

Words fail me. What a...a incomparable, contemptible  _ asshole.  _ The Smiling God is toying with me, counting on my regaining my strength and mounting a desperate and ultimately futile attack, so that it might derive even  _ more  _ pleasure from beating me down.

 

The Smiling God misjudged me. 

 

I laugh.

 

I laugh wildly, throat twisting to produce this noise that reverberates throughout the room, throughout perhaps all of Night Vale. I am aware of Night Vale, every citizen moving forward, one foot, then another, and another, some hesitant to proceed with their lives, filled with mundanity and loneliness, and others matching urgent strides to the excitement or fear that they are internally experiencing. I feel all of this. I see all of this. I  _ understand  _ all of this, because I built this town. I love this town. I  _ am  _ this town.

 

Night Vale did not cease to exist when I hid myself away, ashamed and persecuted. It endured, and was attacked, and is now under threat of takeover, decimation, and still it keeps on going. 

 

Night Vale an idea of a community, and a group of people, some of whom I am not especially fond, some of whom are not especially fond of me. I let go of that. This isn’t the time for holding grudges. I picture every meal purchased at Jerry’s Tacos and Big Rico’s Pizza, each moment of savoring. I can recall conversations with passersby and whispers of encouragement from Secret Police officers as they listened in on my dates.

 

Every radio show I ever recorded. I told Night Vale the story of themselves, and I spoke the truths that were my own self. 

 

Carlos, whose dear, beautiful voice reached me when no one else’s could, is now a part of this town. Abby, my irritating, beloved older sister, is a part of this town. Janice and Khoshekh and yes, even  _ Steve Carlsberg  _ are essential to  _ my  _ Night Vale. 

 

I am laughing, because size is a matter of perspective. So is power.

 

And I had little of either before, but  _ now _ …

 

I spread my various limbs wide, in the gesture coined by Night Vale soldiers (during the first stages of the Blood Space War), meaning  _ “in stepping towards me, you place one foot on the path of death. Alternatively, maggots are crawling up your still living back. They are eating your flesh, therefore relieving me of having to kill you myself. It’s a pretty disgusting sight. Sucks for you, man.”  _

 

“You will not infect  _ anyone  _ else, do you understand me, monster? You will not force from us any. More. Smiles.”

 

The Smiling God tilts its engorged head, truly surprised.  **Then burn, heretic.**

 

As it flings itself toward me, I hear Carlos cry out, the sound half scream and half sob. 

  
  


**Tamika**

 

This honestly isn’t as difficult as I thought it’d be. Or rather, it’s a merry-go-round of accusations, tears, attempted suicides and murders, but all of them end with Abby waking people up. Waking them as Dana and I wrestle them to the ground. Waking them to a hollow false world, an eternal apocalypse. 

 

The hardest part is when my parents cower away from me. They call me  _ dissenter  _ and  _ bitch  _ and  _ heathen  _ and my dad slaps me in the face.

 

I don’t run him through. I don’t even hit him back.

 

He’s my  _ dad _ .

 

“I’m sorry,” he says now, for the twentieth time, I’ve been counting. We, Abby, Dana, the de-brainwashed masses, and me are searching the far corners of this hellscape. Can’t leave out any stragglers.

 

“It wasn’t really you,” I reply. Firm. Like a soldier. Like someone who is older than thirteen. My dad seems shorter than me, because he is slumping and I’m standing straight as the spine of a book. I’m marching. 

 

I haven’t told him that the next part of our plan involves me staying behind, tempting a beast. A thing made out of hunger and loneliness. Emotions like that are why books get written, sometimes. I wish that black-eyed jerk off who calls himself  _ Kevin  _ could have just done the normal thing and written a good novel instead of making the Smiling God. 

 

This line of thought isn’t useful. The Smiling God is real. I’m going to face it. I’m looking forward to it, I really, really am. 

 

My hands do not tremble. When Abby mutters, quietly, “Are you sure?” I nod. Of course I am. I was born being sure. I was sure from my imprisonment to my rescue to right now. 

 

I finger the pages of  _ Look Back in Anger _ , one of a few volumes that I stowed away in my pack. I’m not certain how effective they will be, but it’s nice to have them. It’s the only comfort I allow myself.

  
  


**Carlos**

 

I can’t watch. I can’t watch. 

 

It helps that Kevin is still trying to bite out my eyeballs, so I don’t really have the option of focusing on Cecil right now. 

 

I should have payed more attention when my older brother was trying to teach me how to fight, instead of trying to calculate the chemical makeup of blood and sinew. Although I did figure out, using my shaky, fifteen-year-old’s grasp of physics, exactly how hard one would theoretically have to punch in order to break a man’s nose. Actually it was a range, depending on the size and shape of the nose in question, and while I am attempting to remember the numbers, Kevin pries my hands away from my face. 

 

I abandon physics and kick him in the crotch with as much force as I can manage. He yelps, and I  _ finally  _ get the opportunity to pull a small test tube out of my boot, another weapon that I had prepared, just in case. I uncap the tube, and toss the contents in Kevin’s general direction. I confess, my aim is extremely bad. But I was shaking with adrenaline, and the panic that produced it, and the delayed shock reaction that also produced it, and I could hear Cecil yelling something unintelligible behind me, which caused my heart to increase the rapidity with which it beats, a combination of still more panic and also the involuntary excitement that rises in me every single time I hear his voice. So I had  _ several  _ decent excuses for my poor aim.

 

Nevertheless, the sulfuric acid splashes onto Kevin’s shirt. I’m relieved that no droplets reach his face. I don’t  _ want  _ to hurt him. He looks too much like my boyfriend for me to want to hurt him badly. Even this makes me feel horribly guilty. 

 

He’s a god. He’ll heal himself. 

 

Except he’s just standing there as the acid starts to eat away at his skin. I know, from lab tests and preventative research, just how much pain he should be in right now. Either Kevin is incapable of retaining bodily damage (he did survive drowning, didn’t he?) or he has dissociated himself to the extent that he can’t feel what’s poisoning him. Can he feel anything at all? Those dark eyes (how does he  _ see _ ? How do they work?) are empty, but they aren’t dead. He’s alive, therefore he must have some sensation, some thoughts that are still his own, something that makes him  _ more  _ than a shell. More than a memory. 

 

“Carlos,” he mumbles, and kind of taps his chest, which is turning red and peeling away. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I only wanted to make him back off. I only wanted to be able to help Cecil. 

 

I pivot, scanning the room for Cecil and the Smiling God. 

 

I see them, and I don’t.

 

They are

 

Shadow and light and the atmosphere that should be solid ripping into bits, the smell of ozone, the thump, thump of feet against the ground, more than two, claws scraping against the floorboards, chants in an unknown language that reverberate like an earthquake but sounds like wings beating the air. I can’t understand it. I want to look at this battle through a telescope the way I would for a dying star. I want it to be smaller than it is, something I can take samples from and write notes on. 

 

There is no possibility of me affecting the outcome of this two-person war. I, the scientist who looks for the potential in all things, am admitting that there is no potential here. There is nothing for me to do. There is nothing. 

 

“You… that actually  _ stings _ . It should feel unpleasant...but I have not felt  _ anything  _ other than contentment and strange, unexplained glee in a  _ long time _ .” I turn back. Kevin meets my pained gaze. 

 

I was wrong. I can do something. “You need to get under cold water. Immediately. You should head to Cecil’s shower. I’m not really sure where that is, but twenty minutes under  _ cold  _ water should halt the burning.”

 

Kevin’s head bobs up and down. His mouth twitches, closes, and slowly his lunatic grin fades. “I...I wasn’t...are your eyes okay? I don’t know….I’ve been  _ so  _ confused lately.” 

 

“So have I. It’s been a very weird week. But I love weird, so I see how it’s been a lot worse for you.” I am not sure if I should mention the Smiling God. Unless I’m mistaken, his brainwashing seems to be cracking. I don’t want to cause him to revert back to the maniac who wanted to kill me a minute ago. Or you know, whatever he was planning on doing. Transforming me into a facsimile of the person that I am, the way that Kevin is (or was?) an echo of the man that he used to be. 

 

I am weighted down with a desire to do  _ anything _ , to help someone. Cecil is beyond my reach. Kevin isn’t him, and will never be him, but he’s a guy who Cecil loves, no matter how much Cecil tries not to show it. “If you promise not to put your teeth or fingernails in my eyes ever again, I’ll let you lean on me while we find the shower.” 

 

I don’t know if I’m putting my life at risk here. Does it matter? Nothing makes scientific sense anymore. Logic is in shreds and I’m going by instinct. Which in its own way is more scientific than anything, because it relies on biologically constructed emotions and situations rather than learned ideas. Or maybe that’s ridiculous and I’m just justifying my choices. 

 

“I promise.” And then, “Thanks,” Kevin adds, placing a hand on my arm. 

  
  


**Dana**

 

How long have we been here. What should be a question becomes a flat statement because there is no answer. Measurements, both of time and of space, have vanished. The worst part is that those few days in the outside feel like the aberration. This, these repeating cliffs and crevices and crackling pyres, have become ordinary to me. Mundane. 

 

The worshippers, ex-worshippers, I should say, are so confused and lost. I’m glad to be here. I find the most frightened looking individuals and comfort them. I stroke their backs lightly and tell them that they are protected. That I’ve already escaped, and returned willingly, and it will be so much easier (less terrible) for them, because we are not two but many. When they roll their eyes in disbelief and point out that numbers are irrelevant to an eldritch deity, I reply with, “Well, we’ve got two  _ ancient _ eldritch deities on our side, so screw the Smiling God.” 

 

I love saying that out loud! “Screw the Smiling God,” they say after me. None of us are called out as heretics or criminals. I could weep, dance with the sheer joy of it.  _ Screw  _ it,  _ Fuck  _ it. Tamika, from her position at the head of the crowd, chuckles. Abby does not. I guess I can’t blame her. Since her brother made the god, and then was broken by it. 

 

Changing roles, swapping out the label of “fugitive” for “rebel” was powerful in its own dark way. But now, switching labels yet again, from “rebel” to “savior” has done something irreversible to me. I am standing taller, prouder. I am held up by collective gratitude and admiration. It doesn’t equal hope, not entirely, but it is a sort of freedom. All traces of self-doubt are gone. I  _ know _ . The self that I fought so hard for, back when I was a prisoner, has flared. I am wildfire. 

  
  


**Cecil**

 

The Smiling God and I might as well be one being, trapped in a head-over-heals stumbling without end kind of dance. 

 

I dodge assaults and strike out, kicking and punching. I do not experience exhaustion on a physical level. We have gone far past that. I spin into fourth and fifth dimensions. The Smiling God reaches into the sky, and slices it in two. Through the hole, I can see wretched landscapes, the ground mauled by poison and heat. This must be the Smiling God’s own world, which means that Abby is somewhere in the ruin. 

 

The Smiling God snatches at my arm; no doubt it is intending to drag me through the casm, effectively cutting me off from my home terrain. I can’t allow this to happen, least of all because the God might in fact be able to destroy me there. More important is that Abby, Dana, and Tamika have not yet escaped with all of the Smiling God’s victims. My job is to delay, and by G.... uh, never mind. Anyway, I will continue to do my job until my sister is safe. 

 

In the meantime, I. Am. Winning. 

 

Okay. So that’s a slight exaggeration. 

 

Still, I can hear the Smiling God’s near-imperceptible gasps of exertion. With my newly heightened senses, I can track its jerky movements, its mounting desperation. It is a being who got much more than it bargained for, and I feel absolutely  _ no sympathy _ . 

 

In the back of my mind, floating on the edges of conscious thought is Carlos, who, oh thank whichever all-powerful being is in charge of miracles, is still alive. I risked one glance at him, as the Smiling God recovered from having my hands inside its lungs. Not only is he okay, but he seems to be patting Kevin awkwardly on the shoulder, as my brother mumbles illegibly and retches. This more than anything reassures me that I  _ am  _ having some effect on the Smiling God. As it directs its energy towards killing me, whatever hold it has on Kevin is lessening. At least, I hope that is what’s happening.

 

When it comes down to it, I am hoping for a lot. Largely that I survive the next few crucial minutes. That I  _ survive _ . I was just starting to arrange my life in a pattern that makes me  _ happy _ . Given time, I could clear my name on the murder charge, regain my old position as Night Vale radio host, and see where this thing with Carlos is going. Good places, I think. Very good, if we can just make it through today. 

 

Oh. And another thing about Carlos. When I underwent re-deification (is that a word? I’m gonna assume that it’s a viable word) I gained a deeper understanding of my past and my unconscious. I now know why Carlos and I met, through that odd and convenient mirror. I know everything.

 

**Cecil Palmer** , the Smiling God howls. My name sounds like the final part of an argument, when the other person throws out words like bullets, intending to emotionally devastate their opponent. 

 

The God’s own name has become inaccurate. 

 

The Smiling God is no longer smiling. 

 

“Cecil,” Carlos and Kevin say together, to encourage me. Or maybe, in Kevin’s case, to apologize. 

 

Which is also why I need to live. To convey the depth of my forgiveness. 

 

“Cecil!” It’s my sister. I chance a peek to the side of us (the God and me), where another portal is opening. My sister is visible in other side, along with Dana and a huge crowd behind them. More than I expected. 

 

Wordless shrieks of fury fill my head, rupturing my eardrums. “That’s right. You’ve been hoodwinked, you asshole. There will be no more souls for you to feed on. The only thing you’ve got left….” I hurl myself in between him and the others, trying not to betray my reluctance, or the tears that are welling in my eyes, “...is me.  _ Mocking  _ you.”

 

And with that, I force a laugh. I make it sound as gleeful and as careless as I can manage. Personally, I don’t think it has the same weight as my genuine chortling from earlier, when I really was gleeful, but if all goes well, the Smiling God will once again take my bait. Just  _ a few more seconds _ that I need to distract it. 

 

It looks at me with the kind of hatred that represents a massacre personified. I don’t move. Who is it going to attack? 

  
I blink, and manage not to cry, or collapse. I gather all that I have, and I wait. 


	18. The Finishing

**Cecil**

 

It splits in two.

  
  


**Tamika**

 

We really should have seen this coming.  _ Damn it _ , but no matter. I hoist my sword, and a hardback copy of  _ The Handmaid’s Tale _ , the one that’s equipped with throwing knives. I look on as a new monster slides out of the old one like oil, like something being born. But it is the same beast, the same god, occupying two different spaces at once. I guess it couldn’t decide who it hated more, me or the radio host. 

“Leave me,” I hiss at the group. The instruction somehow ends up aimed at Dana, which is appropriate. She’s done enough. Let someone else stand in front of the figurative firing squad. 

“Not me,” Abby insists. Seriously? She chooses now to change our plan? 

“Go help your brother.” Abby is offering me the chance to not be alone. Because I’m facing the cage again. The moment where I’m anchorless and friendless and have only myself to depend on. 

It would be nice, sometimes, to have a hand to hold. Another fighter, to fall into step with me. I think, longingly, angrily, of my book club. It would be better with them here, and also, worse. 

“Go,” I repeat.

I’m a leader. I take care of my troops. That’s all. 

The former Smiling God worshippers have almost made it. A few, such as an old, frail-looking woman, a couple of men who’ve probably never been in combat beyond what is required to survive a lifetime in Night Vale, a child who is younger than me but older than Abby’s daughter, are still running. Still gasping, desperate to reach the tangible world, a town that is no more malevolent than any other town, which is to say that the City Hall is powered by shadowy beings of chaotic origin and there’s a spy for every citizen and cataclysms in various shapes arrive to cull the population. Just like in every normal town. 

**Why do you cower? Why are you afraid, dear Lauren, dear Sean?** Its voice has become  _ smooth _ , it is  _ gentle _ , it sounds… like a blend of Cecil and Kevin. Warm, a little overdramatic. I can hear fondness, fondness and quiet sorrow, the hint of betrayal, oozing out of every word. It makes me sick. 

“They’re afraid because you tortured them! You enslaved them! You treated them like manuscripts to be edited, removing entire chapters of their lives as you saw fit.” I scream it. I allow my hatred, and my pain, to spread to every part of my body. 

“You think you’re some sort of savior? Let me adjust that viewpoint. You are not a deity. You don’t deserve worship. You are a parasite who masks its victim’s pain, and pretends that it is kindness.” 

**Tamika. I am sorry. I am sorry that you are filled with doubt, and that you must harden your skin to contain your fear and dissatisfaction and longing.**

Its face, that massive, igneous mask, is near enough to touch. I hold my sword between us like a barrier. 

**Wouldn’t it be easier to let go? Don’t you, the protector of the weak, long for peace? An ending to it all?**

“No,” I tell it. “I love the fighting.” Then I leap forward and drive my knife into its eye. Not that this will do anything but incite the Smiling God’s fury. It was a gesture, an expression. Let’s see what you care more about, you bastard, your food source or revenge. How inflated is your ego? 

And I fall backwards, ignoring the cries of “Tamika! No!” My mom sounds too shrill, it hurts my ears. Don’t follow me, Mom. I fall backwards into hell, and I  _ dare _ the devil to follow me. 

  
  


**Cecil**

It’s a good thing that Abby arrives when she does, because I can’t keep this up much longer. I’m almost spent. Out of the corner of one of my eyes, I see Tamika leading the Smiling God, one portion of it, away. Since I am being truthful with myself for the first time in several years, I will admit, reluctantly, painfully, that Tamika is doomed. I am a god at or near the Smiling God’s level, and I can barely hold it off. A human child, however courageous, cannot stand against this malestrom. 

To the parents of Tamika Flynn...I’m so sorry I put your daughter in danger. Of course, she was already in extreme danger before I was even aware of her existence, so I don’t blame myself for that. Also, it  _ was _ Tamika’s choice to be involved with taking down the Smiling God and all. Have you met your daughter? She is very persistent! 

Um,  _ anyway _ ...I should probably concentrate on… 

White-hot agony explodes inside my body. I scream, and blindly throw a punch with my right arm, which is the side of me that is not currently in horrible pain. 

“CECIL!!” My sister lurches forward, enlarging as she does so. She grows to ten feet, then fifteen feet, bursts through my ceiling and wraps her many hands around the Smiling God’s throat. I cradle my lower left tentacle, what’s left of it (a couple of inches, maybe) in my arms and focus on re-growing it. 

What I decide to repress for the time being is how much the housing repairs will cost me. I suppose I should have purchased insurance, but that required monthly payments of bone marrow and pleasant dreams, and I just thought it wasn’t worth it. How was I supposed to know that my home would be ground zero for a divine war? Ugh, learn to plan ahead, Cecil. 

“Cecil? Honey! Are you okay?!” Carlos runs to me. He sinks down by my side and takes my right hand, pressing down in a way that would be almost painful if I hadn’t just lost a limb here. His other hand comes up and strokes my hair. “Sorry, that was an idiotic question. Clearly you’re not okay.”

“You saved me.” It is suddenly important, gravely important, that Carlos hears this. “You stopped me from falling apart. I only lasted this long because you showed me who I was.”

Carlos blushes. “It wasn’t as heroic as you make it sound! I was desperate, and it was all I could think to say. Hardly scientific at all, I’m afraid.” He leans against me so that our foreheads touch. 

I say, “I should probably get back to the battle.” Despite this, I do not make a move to get up. I will, in a minute. Just one minute to study Carlos like I never have before: his firm jaw, his lovely face with the corners of his eyes that wrinkle whenever he flashes a brilliant grin, his white lab coat that is as much a part of him as anything else, his dark eyes imbued with flecks of light which resemble the stars and the void between them, void teeming with potential.  

“Of course. Of course you do… Cecil, is there anything else I can do?” I must look reluctant, because he puts his hand up and says, “I know, you likely want me to stay on the sidelines, safe. But I am not a sidelines kind of man, sweetie. Scientists take risks. You know who else takes risks? Boyfriends do. I want to, because  _ I love you _ .”

I cannot breathe for a second, and then it as if I am filled with the purest spring air in the world. My heart is fluttering, and I laugh once, from sheer exultation. “And I love you.” 

“Good. I mean, that is  _ very  _ good. Extremely! So, uh, we need to save the world right now. Which brings me back to helping you.” 

I notice that my tentacle has reformed. Huh. I wasn’t even paying attention. I expand my awareness, checking in on Abby, who is cursing and striking the Smiling God with a series of highly specialized martial arts moves. Tamika is still alive, though clearly suffering. Part of the Smiling God’s consciousness has followed her back into its lair, and is currently trying to overwhelm her senses. Light, piercing sound, hundreds of fingers pressing into her flesh. 

Miles away, Steve is attempting to comfort an irate Janice as they drive out into the desert, to the farthest borders of Night Vale. They should be further by now, meaning that they ran into trouble and fought their way through. Khoshekh is floating by Janice’s shoulder, frightened by what he cannot understand. 

I focus back on Carlos. “Let me take care of the physical side of things, by which I mean fighting, luring, emotionally battering our enemy through petty insults, etc. Abby and I are going to get the Smiling God to retreat back into its cave. We  _ may  _ be weak and unable to crawl back out again. Can you, and I totally get it if this is too much, be nearby to either assist us with escaping, or, if necessary, get Dana to help you perform the spell that will close the opening between worlds? Assuming that Abby or I am still alive, we can add whatever god-strength we have left from the other side, and it might be enough.”

“No. No, it’s not going to come to that.”

“I really hope not, Carlos.” There is truly no more time left for us. I kiss him quickly, and then levitate myself to the space currently occupied by my sister and a Smiling God. 

  
  


**Kevin**

 

It’s all very confusing. 

I assumed, as all driven people assume, that my actions were morally correct and reasonable. I was a good father. I respected my son’s desires and then I simply respected him, acknowledged his superiority over me. I knew that my brother was a danger to us both, so I strangled him until he drowned me in the lake. 

I was extremely put out with Cecil. I was acting in the best interests of everyone in Night Vale! I was  _ right _ , damn it. 

The half of my brain that controlled my actions was filled with the blinding daze of ecstasy  _ every  _ moment of  _ every  _ day.  I could conceal nothing from the Smiling God. I didn’t  _ want  _ to. It was like having my skeleton picked clean by flesh-eating bacteria over and over again, and  _ enjoying _ the sensation. My thoughts were his and his were mine, and when I had the urge to strap one of my interns down and pry out every one of his teeth to use for office decorations, it was all just normal, normal, normal. 

This was the outside of Kevin, my shell. Inside there was another Kevin, curled up in the fetal position in order to fit within the first Kevin. The second Kevin was held down by unbreakable chains, which were made of my own denial and paternal love. This Kevin writhed; he downright begged me not to hurt anyone, don’t do anything to that poor intern,  _ leave her alone and him alone. Do not harm Cecil. DO YOU HEAR ME?? Do not harm Cecil, or Abby. Please. _

When I drowned, the second Kevin went almost entirely silent. From time to time, I still heard whispered pleas, but these were easy enough to ignore. They had no more weight than the remnants of a dream. 

I was content. I was happy. I knew what I had to do. 

My head aches now, badly. The second Kevin has unfurled and is spreading, his feelings seeping into my own. I absorb his anguish. This does not seem like I am becoming whole: it is as if the two halves of me are being sewn together in the messiest fashion possible. Each stitch is a new stab wound, and the halves collide awkwardly, bruising each other in the process. 

Oh. 

I know now.

I was so, so terribly wrong. Everything I’ve done. And I should be pondering it on a deeper and more meaningful level, but 

Exterior pain, coming from burns that I don’t remember suffering. Inside: guilt, guilt, sadness hovering just on the edge of my perception, the agony of the needlework, the tugging siren song of the Smiling God, not disappeared yet. 

 

**Tamika**

 

I honestly do not get why we thought we could win this one. It’s too much. I never envisioned a future in which I would be saying this, saying that something is too much. But it is.

It’s the truth, but that isn’t going to make me stop. 

I drive my sword through the Smiling God’s outstretched hand. It hisses in a way that resembles laughter. Oh  _ fuck  _ you, you monster. I might die because of you, but it’s not going to happen whilst running away.

I burn through an offense of mental images, hurling them at the Smiling God like missiles. Because it’s in my mind, isn’t it? Intellectually, I know that my sword and my knives aren’t much more than the pricking of a needle to it (though I keep jabbing, just in case, just to keep it somewhat occupied, just to keep myself from sinking to the ground like a corpse). My thoughts on the other hand, could be worth something. Really, they probably aren’t. But the god keeps slithering into my brain and trying to infect it with the desire to kneel and a falsified love. So I strike back with my rage and my scorn.

**Tamika**

_ Yes?  _ It’s weakening. It is, I can sense it. I recognize the look in its eyes: the same flash of mortality that was in that librarian from so long ago. 

It is now trying to wrest knowledge of our plan from me, but I will not let it.  **What are you up to?** It says it in a sing-song, fairy-tale witch sort of way.  **Whaaat** **_are_ ** **you uuup to?**

“Are you a municipal officer gathering our deepest secrets for our own protection? No. You’re not. I, Tamika Flynn, unofficial leader of this rebellion, am not listening.” 

**Oh, Tamika. Did you** **_really_ ** **think I would let you hurt me? Tamika, storybook endings where the beast is defeated are lies that parents tell their children so that when the child enters reality, they are crushed and changed and reborn into something new and better. The lie is so the child won’t see any of it coming. It is time for you to grow up, Tamika. Time for you to stop clinging to a baby, a fragment of all you could be.**

I evade. I attack. I evade. I attack. 

The words are suffocating. Literally. It’s getting more and more difficult to breathe. My brief flare of hope has faded. I have only remained alive this long because the Smiling God wanted to play with me, let me feel confidence and then show me how helpless I truly am. No sword, or punch, or thought will stop it. There is only one act left to me, and that’s to keep the final secret: how Abby and Cecil intend to seal the Smiling God away. And I  _ will  _ protect that secret, until the end.

So this is what’s happening when the other half of the Smiling God crashes through the doorway, followed by the aforementioned Cecil and Abby. 

“Tamika!” Cecil calls to me. He ducks under claws and dematerializes briefly to avoid the god’s fingers. Abby remains by the portal, a silent, wrathful guardian. 

Cecil reaches out to me. 

 

**Cecil**

 

I help Tamika run back towards Abby. We are nearly there. We are very nearly done with this. 

**CECIL GERSHWIN PALMER**

**YOU ARE**

**WORTHLESS** **  
** **TERRIFIED** **  
** **WEAK**

**NEITHER A GOD NOR A MAN**

**A MURDERER**

**DESPISED**

**FREAKISH**

**DOOMED TO A LIFE OF GRIEF AND REGRET**

Every proclamation is an earthquake that rends this hollow world. Each word causes me to lose my balance. Abby has begun screaming over the din, attempting to draw my attention away from it. The Smiling God has coalesced back into one creature, so that’s good news. However, it’s probably also figured out what we’re going to do, and is now throwing everything it has into preventing the three of us from leaving. Flashes of light blind me, and I hear Abby yelp in pain. Hooks dig into my mouth and pull my deeper into the Smiling God’s twisted version of reality. Tamika is pulling me back, creating the effect of a great tug-of-war. Actual war, shrunk down to just three individuals and one eldritch horror. 

“Cecil!” 

I retract that last statement. Five individuals. Carlos and Dana have joined us. Their inquisitive heads peer through the door. This position strikes me as worryingly open to decapitation from our enemy. 

“Don’t come any closer! Don’t go through the portal! For the love of sanity, Carlos, stay outside!” 

As any good scientist would, he ignores all warnings and proceeds into danger for the benefit of a worthwhile cause. Damn scientific integrity. 

**You will not leave. The concept of escape is dead to you. Come here, Dana. Walk through.**

_ “No!”  _ Dana shouts, just as Kevin says, 

“Actually, you’re incorrect.”

 

**Kevin**

 

So the inner me is in control now. It’s certainly an interesting, different sort of feeling. 

I didn’t know where I was for a while, but once I figured it out, determination and recovered strength carried me here. 

I feel old. And sad, but it is a cathartic sadness. The sun disappears and we are left standing in the dark, quivering with anticipation. I am a man with convictions again. I know what is necessary.

“I’m so sorry,” I breathe. The apology is for my whole family, just everyone, but I face my child. Who never really was my child. “I’m sorry I made you like this.” A parasite. A wound that cannot heal. 

“Kev?” Abby says, quietly. She always understood me. “I love you.” And, “Cecil, Tamika, we’re leaving. GO.” 

I set about undoing the Smiling God’s power.

 

**Carlos**

 

It’s difficult work, getting Cecil through the portal. Tamika, Abby and I have to drag him. I can barely muster the heart for it, even if it is for Cecil’s own safety.

He is wild with grief and regret. Which means that the Smiling God was right. (I’m not certain if I should tell Cecil that I arrived in time to hear the locution that was meant to break him.) 

(I cannot tell if he is broken now. I hate not knowing important things.)

“We have to wait for him! We can’t  _ not _ !” Cecil is shouting, and the assorted people around us gaze at him in alarm. 

They begin to declare things like: “This might be our only chance to be rid of that  _ thing _ , so stop wasting time!” and “Close the door and leave it to rot!” and “I’ll shut the portal myself!”

“What right do any of you have?!” Dana, soft-spoken Dana, roars, “You have not fought the Smiling God. None of you risked life and soul for the arrival of this instant! The five of us have, so you  _ will  _ respect our decisions.” She looks sideways at Cecil and Abby. “What are our decisions?” 

The crowd is beginning to surge up. If we do not move quickly, we will in all probability have another revolt on our hands. 

“Just give Kevin another minute,” Cecil pleads. He sounds so lost. I already have my arms around him, and now I hold him closer. I hope the rush of oxytocin will comfort him. 

“Cecil,” Abby whispers. She has started to cry, which tells me what the statistical probability of Kevin returning is. And I threw acid on him. If time travel were possible (and maybe in this new universe, I can actually find proof that it is) I would undo that. I would undo every hurt that Cecil’s twin ever suffered. And all the hurt that Cecil himself is suffering now.

“We have to close it,” Tamika says frankly. 

Cecil swallows and nods. “Then...we’ll finish saving Night Vale. When we tell the story, we’ll remember that it was Kevin who made it possible. We will…”

“We should really stop delaying,” Abby tells him gently. 

Closing a hole in the fabric of existence is easier than one would think. It’s just repairing the atoms that should have been a solid wall between us and that scorched landscape. The difficult part is closing all the holes, all the little cracks that the Smiling God used to influence the Night Valeans. Every chord connected to every mirror must be severed. But first, the portal right in front of us has to go. 

It occurs to me now, as it did a few days ago when I proposed this idea, that with the fabric between universes made solid again, I might not be able to return to my homeworld. I might be trapped in Night Vale. 

I am not afraid. I said my goodbyes when I left, and believe me, there weren’t many of them. Nevertheless. There are my parents to consider, and my siblings. The ex-boyfriends and the ex-friends and the current friends. Not to mention my position in the scientific community. Everything that has brought me to this point. I won’t pretend to myself that it isn’t a sacrifice. 

It’s just that allowing Night Vale to be overrun by the Smiling God, and losing this  _ incredible  _ opportunity to research  _ alien beings  _ (and of course, losing Cecil, the most important reason of all) is the greater sacrifice. The one that I will not make. 

Anyway, I can’t talk about this right now, not when Cecil is losing his brother. What will happen to Kevin? If he is immortal, will he be locked in with the Smiling God for eternity? Or, as the Smiling God’s creator, will he eventually steal back the life that he endowed? For once I am uncertain if asking questions holds any importance. What will I gain?

I can’t stop asking. 

Abby and Dana and Cecil have all begun to chant. The language is ancient, and sounds like the wind careening through trees.

“Hold on,” a fatigued voice begs us. The chanting halts, giving Kevin (who by now resembles a human only in concept) a chance to stumble out and approach his brother and sister. 


	19. In Conclusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, last chapter! It's been a long journey getting here (not like fighting evil gods or anything, not THAT terrifying, but you know what I mean). Thanks to everyone who's read this far! You're all awesome!

**Dana**

 

In the months since I have returned to Night Vale, I’ve been…

Ordinary days, filled with a simple monotony that I had never appreciated before. I moved back in with my dads. I discovered that Maureen had started dating Michelle Nguyen, who runs Dark Owl Records. I had never been close with Michelle, but I’ve also never held anything against her. For what it’s worth, I still don’t. I can’t blame them. It is not uncommon for people to vanish into the whimsical gulf of our Night Vale. I might not have reappeared for years, or ever. Ruminating on that “ever” still causes my blood to run cold. 

Maureen and I have been talking, examining ourselves and our history and whether or not the period where I was away (it turns out to have been close to seven months) has changed things irreversibly between us. 

_ I  _ am changed. I sleep with heavy blinds so that the sunlight is not there to greet me in the morning, before I am able to prepare myself. I have become compulsive about checking off days as they occur, in order to make certain that time is passing the way that it should. Sometimes a Monday is canceled, or pockets of Night Vale are stuck in the same hour for what should be several hours. All of this made me anxious and sick, but in the end nothing could or does match that dreary ocean of  _ no _ time and  _ every _ time. 

It’s strange how you can know something, and in all the ways that should matter, you accept it as fact, yet the something still feels improbable, too convenient to be true. I’m back in the life of Dana Cardinal, eighteen year old student and former radio station intern (my position was filled while I was gone. Honestly, I was glad to leave the station. I had had enough of walking alongside immanent death). 

For the most part, I am happy. No, thrilled. No, happy. The thrill has worn off by now. It’s unreal though, this happiness. I can’t bring myself to trust that it isn’t a lie perpetuated by a sinister third party, a presence hovering just out of my sight. Oddly, I’m not afraid of whatever this presence intends for me. What I cannot face is having gained back so much of my life, only to lose it, or discover that it was never at any point  _ mine _ .

Maureen’s eyes sparkled the last time she saw me, like they used to when we were together. One of my dads is into a new band, and he keeps singing in his soft, calming voice, which my other dad tried once to imitate. He succeeded in producing a version of the song that resembled the former mayor trying to repel irate citizens with only the force of her screams. The secret police have sent us complaints. Some of them were pretty amusing. You needed to be there. 

I’ve become surprisingly good friends with several of the Smiling God’s former worshippers. I even give Tamika a call once in a while. 

It all seems too perfect, too close to what a life should be. 

No...it’s not perfect, it is just that it’s enough for me, and for so long I couldn’t imagine existing without  _ wanting _ . 

Look. The memory of what has passed is a lot to deal with. I don’t think I could be doing it any better than I am. I am dealing with it. The memories will fall back into the dark recesses of my mind, and I will be…

I’ll be the summation of my experiences. Some of them terrible and some proud. 

I’ve decided to study politics in my freshman year at Night Vale Community College. Since the current mayor is stepping down, I want to make certain that the new mayor will have Night Vale’s best interests at heart. 

I might even work towards a career in government, or law. Something that will allow me to help people, in a way that is visible. I don’t want to be part of a vague agency that influences Night Vale without its knowledge. I would prefer that everyone be able to evaluate me and challenge me, and if I do my job right, that everyone can place faith in me. 

Dana Cardinal, public servant. Hey, I infiltrated the very heart of a malicious god and walked out again. City Hall should be easier. I have confidence. 

 

1/3/2013

A Scientist’s Log

Hello, future scientists. My name is Carlos, and I am an alien in this universe. 

I hope the dramatic beginning works. It certainly sounded impressive in my head

I’m a scientist like the rest of you (and forgive me for making the assumption that whomever is reading this is, in fact, searching for data to inform whatever tests are being performed at an unknown point in time. If you are a historian, or a linguist, or you have somehow gotten hold of my journal and are reading it purely for recreational pleasure, by all means, continue). 

My last logbook contained most of the information leading up to my life, such as it is, now. Unfortunately, that journal was left back in the universe of my birth, as I’d deemed it unimportant compared to other notes, calculations, and assorted lab equipments. I could only fit so much in a travel pack. 

In the interest of full disclosure, I’m going to write down the story here. I’m certain that by most standards, it was quite an adventure. Don’t adventures usually involve monsters and heroics, startling revelations and the realization of love? 

Well, this story had all of those things. It also had a lot of science, related to alternate worlds and matter and biology. It certainly gave me something to ponder over these past few months. Besides, of course, my boyfriend Cecil. He’s the reason I’m here. Let me describe Cecil. Brilliant, warm, hectic Cecil. 

Really, Cecil’s the most important part of this tale. He’s the part you should pay attention to. And the science. I mean, that’s extremely obvious. The science goes without saying. 

*

*

*

_ Several pages later _

Did you enjoy those long, complex equations that explain how Abby and Cecil blocked the Smiling God from escaping its self-created prison? I definitely did! Because I invented them. Not to brag or anything, but I hope everyone appreciates the thought and care put into those equations, especially considering I had next to no knowledge of reality-warping magic at the time. 

As for Kevin...I am not a psychologist. That was one of the few disciplines that I  didn’t study. He was in bad shape for a while, and if I were qualified to make a diagnosis, I would say that he was grief stricken.

It felt... private to watch, as if I was peering at Kevin exposed, the pumping, working parts of him. The parts that most of us try to keep hidden, because we anticipate others’ judgement, as if values are universal and, and... experiencing heartbreak in the midst of everyone else’s celebration is wrong. The Smiling God had violated Kevin, and I’m not sure if Kevin was mourning the his own betrayal or the being that he had intended to create and hadn’t. 

I’m going to stop speculating now. As I said, I’m truly not qualified for it. Believe what you will.

Watching Kevin like that was not what made me cry. It was Cecil, flinging himself at his twin and hugging him as if they hadn’t nearly eradicated each other’s lives, once. That’s what made me cry. (Note: examine the specific situations that generally set off my tear ducts; time how long each period of weeping lasts, the extent of it, quietly dignified tears versus explosive sobbing, etc. No real scientific importance, but it would be interesting.)

It’s been over three months, more or less, depending on how you measure the somewhat unpredictable and not-always-linear-time in Night Vale, since we defeated the Smiling God. Since then, I’ve moved into an apartment near Night Vale’s town center, perfectly sized for a decent laboratory as long as I have minimal furniture and permission to add an extra window into the framework, for experimental lighting purposes. Abby paid the first couple of month’s rent, despite my protests. “You’ve saved both my brothers, plus this town, possibly the rest of the world, and in addition you’re sleeping with Cecil, so I’ve got blackmail material in case you make the very large mistake of hurting my brother or otherwise pissing me off in any way.” 

Now, I don’t always have the easiest time with jokes, so...I’m just going to assume Abby’s last remark was another joke that I didn’t get. Her incredibly serious, menacing face notwithstanding. 

Anyway, I am now “Night Vale’s Official Scientist,” as dubbed by the City Council in a scene somewhat reminiscent of being knighted. Now that Cecil has re-gained his post as The Voice of Night Vale, he apparently has all sorts of influence with City Hall, and he said to the Council, “Well, we’ve never had a scientist before, and we do have a high amount of weird disasters that nobody seems capable of explaining. I bet Carlos, who by the way, is a genius, and also my new boyfriend, fyi, like if you want to post that on any social media sites go right ahead...where was I? Oh, yeah! Carlos would be perfect for this job.”

The pay is decent, and more importantly, I was provided with a government-sponsored lab and willing volunteers to assist me! Thus far, I am  loving Night Vale. I may not ever leave. 

Cecil and I considered moving in together, but we decided that it was a bit too soon for that. Might as well get used to actually being able to touch each other and inhabit the same space rather than speaking through a mirror. 

And  speaking of that mirror ...wait. I promised myself that I would get better at staying on track, finishing what I started, and all of that. So let me just add that Cecil is currently living with Abby, Steve and Janice. It was initially supposed to be temporary while Cecil’s house underwent repairs, but the roof is finished and Cecil is still delaying. “There are so many memories of isolation and violence associated with that place. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be ready, eventually. Still, at present it feels better to stay away.” 

Cecil complains about living in close quarters with Steve Carlsberg constantly, but the complaints themselves are beginning to lose their force. I think they might actually be getting along. 

Okay, so the mirror: Cecil told me, after the battle, how that seemingly mundane looking-glass with its communicative properties had managed to reach me. 

It was simple enough. Cecil was under the Smiling God’s sway and did not know it, except some part of him did. The forgotten piece of Cecil, the enhanced senses that come with being a deity, understood that he was in need of assistance. Also, that he was lonely, and he wanted someone to converse with, to bond with. 

As this universe’s god of language, Cecil could facilitate communication on any scale, including across dimensions and conventional logic. That lost part of him was reaching out, sending out mental signals and thus altering reality in hopes of encountering someone. The mirror was the physical form that Cecil’s intentions took. I’d wondered out loud why he had chosen a mirror, rather than a telephone or computer. Cecil shrugged and said that he assumed it was his subconscious’s subtle “fuck you” to the Smiling God. The god captured its prey via mirrors, so Cecil turned one of those mirrors into the exact opposite of what the god had intended for him: an escape from the solitude. 

“You need to realize, Carlos,” Cecil said, staring into my eyes (his face isn’t always the same face now that he has re-learned how to shapeshift. I have several theories on how that works; I’ll transcribe them later), “I could have chosen anyone. It would have been simpler to contact another citizen of Night Vale, or at the very least another citizen of my own universe! But I met you instead. I _chose_ you, unthinking, unaware, yes, but nonetheless, I sought you out. I can only assume... I called out to you because we are able to make sense of each other, or we  would be able to...you get what I’m suggesting, right?”

I did.

The expanse of my emotions can’t be quantified as precisely as I would like, so I’ll end with: when I am an old man, old age being relative of course, but I am referring to  old  by all standards, nearing a different sort of ending, and I am asked, “What was hands-down the most exciting discovery you have ever made?” I will reply,

“The one that was not at all of my doing, when I looked into a mirror and saw another man’s life.”

 

**Tamika**

 

The meeting goes well as usual. One of the newest members, Janice Palmer-Carlsberg, passionately condemns Marlowe a la  _ The Big Sleep _ , our latest club read. Everyone debates about the characterization of Carmen as a villain, and whether or not we should be investigating the mysterious lights in Radon Canyon for evidence of demonic activity. Also, how much of a threat does the miniature army underneath Lane Five in Desert Flowers Bowling Army and Arcade Fun Complex really present?

It’s good to be back. I missed being at the head of a group, discussing the relevance of literature in today’s society and organizing clandestine ambushes. 

When I talk to Dana, she can’t understand why I won’t simply relax. All she wants is normalcy, and peace. Which are decent concepts, and I don’t condemn them. It’s what is right for Dana Cardinal. Not for Tamika Flynn. 

I meant it when I told the Smiling God that I loved fighting. Maybe that characterizes  _ me _ as unhealthy, aggressive, and preordained for a brief, apoplectic life. But, what do I care? I won’t beg forgiveness for being me. 

If I so desire to embrace battlefields, to retire each night with blood coating my hands and an ache in my body, the buzz of victory accompanying me into sleep, then I will damn well do all of those things. 

I protect those who can’t protect themselves, and I punish those who deserve it. I’m Night Vale’s freaking avenging angel.

(No, not literally. Yes, we’re all aware that angels don’t exist).  

The future seems pretty bright from where I’m standing.

 

**Cecil**

 

“Ladies and Gentleman...welcome to Night Vale.”

Khoshekh hovers above my shoulder, and roars into the microphone, greeting the town in his own manner (admittedly, I may be incorrect about Khoshekh’s intentions, as I can’t actually speak cat. Yet another reason to hope that the High School robotics team succeeds in their endeavor to construct an AI that would comprehend both cat and human, thus bridging a gap that has lasted since the dawn of humankind, and feline-kind. Good luck team!)

I address Night Vale.

I read off of the news reports that I am given, and also use my newfound psychic abilities to discuss other matters, more personal ones that affect this municipality on an obscure but no less important level.

“And for Children’s Fun Facts Science Corner, I have a special guest speaker for today! Please let me welcome...Carlos, the scientist!”

Carlos beams at me. When he speaks, his smile is evident with each inflection. “Hello, Night Vale! It’s a real pleasure to be here. I am going to demonstrate, as best I can without the visibility typically needed for scientific presentations, how certain chemical compounds may be combined to make  _ different  _ chemical compounds. It’s all very technical, and...uh, just remember that some of this is dangerous. You have to be  _ very  _ careful with some of the mixtures that you create, kids.”

Carlos glances at me nervously. Clearly, he is concerned about accidentally encouraging small children to make highly corrosive or toxic chemicals. I wave him to continue. Night Vale’s children are already learning how to mix deadly poisons in school. They might as well learn to do it  _ right _ . 

As Carlos lectures, and I break it up with pertinent questions, Kevin sits quietly, waiting for his turn at the microphone. 

Kevin has been quiet as a matter of course, when it comes to important topics. He has briefed Abby and me on his time spent with the Smiling God, including the people that he deluded and captured. Then there are the individuals who angered the god; Kevin shuddered when they were mentioned, and dug his nails into his skin as his face went cold and dead. Which ultimately made their fates clear enough.

He’s been seeing a therapist, though I’m not sure just how much a sentient bonsai tree can relate to Kevin’s issues. Nevertheless, he claims to be getting a lot out of their sessions. My brother is reluctant to bring up his feelings to me. I do my utmost to not push him when it comes to any touchy subjects (such as: the Smiling God, the fact that Kevin, Abby, and I are all gods as well, and the painful-but-necessary-truth that Kevin’s first real attempt at Creation failed miserably). I think that Kevin would prefer to be treated as normally as possible. Lighthearted teasing and casual conversation allow Kevin to forget, temporarily, the last fractured year-and-a-half.

Which is why I’ve started to have him speak on my radio show. Short segments, lasting only a couple of minutes, and usually dealing with the most innocuous events, like the opening of a new restaurant, the closing of an old restaurant, or the owners of both new and old standing off against each other in an aggressive existentialist duel. Addressing Night Vale is meant to further Kevin’s sense of belonging, as well as the citizen’s acceptance of him. I will not tolerate anyone referring to my brother as “The Smiling God’s Right Hand” or “The Reason We All Endured Hell In the First Place.” Kevin was a victim  _ too _ , and nobody in our family, not even  _ Steve _ , will stand to have him insulted. Lately, Kevin has started speaking up in his own defense, which, unless I am mistaken, is a good sign. 

I hope...I  _ know  _ that Kevin is starting to recover who he is. And truly, I could not be  _ prouder  _ of him. 

A few days ago, Abby turned our frequent concerned-about-Kevin/oooh and awww over something great Janice/Carlos has-done-discussions in a different direction. 

“How are you, Cecil?”

I was momentarily flustered. It was mainly the fact that she’d had to  _ ask _ . “I am genuinely the best I’ve been in years. Where did this come from?”

Abby shrugged, her features effortlessly shifting from square and green to angular and peach-toned. She no longer shies away from flagrant displays of power like this. I take this as meaning that all secrets between us (aside from, like, the really inappropriate ones that literally no one wants to learn about their sibling, because  _ no _ , just  _ no)  _ have dissipated. “You’re not human. You are not even ordinarily inhuman. You’re a deity. You recollect everything now. The abilities, the immortality, the distance separating you from everyone else. So...what do you want to do about it?”

What did I want to do about it. 

I had considered this. I had rolled it around in my head, and tried blogging about it. I had even  messaged other hypothetical divinities to get their opinions (none replied, and anyway I am pretty sure most of them were just cosplayers, or government officials, or totally-not-real angels). The thing is, all of this querying, extensive as it sounds, only lasted for a single weekend. Because at the end of that weekend, Carlos and I went on a date. We got tickets for this concert, and the music was great, really lively and perfect for dancing. When the stage inevitably combusted due to the creative energy and dangerously punk-rock guitar chords, and large, shadowy-beasts crawled out of the earth, Carlos and I held hands while we ran. Outside, amidst screams and triumphant howls and the oddly comforting scent of smoke, Carlos said, “This was really fun! Until the near-death, of course. We could skip that next time.” He brushed ash from my cheek and kissed me. 

When I returned to my sister’s house, there was a message from Dana waiting for me. I called her back and we chatted for a while. Nothing significant, just small talk. In the course of our conversation, I remembered another friend whom I’d been meaning to call for like over a year. So I spent another while catching up with Earl Harlan. When we were done, and I was yawning, the amalgam of events that make up a fulfilling day weighing down on me, that was when I understood. 

I am done with any and all forgetting. But. I have a non-immortal life. In other words, I am living a mortal life, with time passing as it will for mortals. I age, I move from day to day. I walk in stride with Carlos and Dana and every other mortal individual in Night Vale. I’m not giving that up. Specifically, I am not giving up the sense of  _ belonging _ . I’ve desired it, I’ve mourned its absence. I will do all I can to keep it. 

As a god, I can pick and choose which aspects of my divine nature remain active at given times. For now, I am leaving the godliest of my powers, such as anti-aging, omnipotence, and spiritual enlightenment (which in deictic terms refers to the feeling of removal from all other beings, due to the deity inhabiting a much higher plane of existence). I might pick them up again at some point in the unforeseeable future. I want to leave myself that much of an option. Why not? Reality is malleable, and denying the possibility of change is to figuratively shut oneself inside a single room in which nothing much happens. 

Nonetheless, I am anchoring myself for now. I have  _ so much _ . I do not need to be a god. I am simply glad to be a person. I require nothing more. 

“Night Vale,” I crow into the microphone, savoring the name, imagining each and every citizen who turns on their radio just because they care about what I have to say. If I was a god in entirety, my words would not hold the same degree of understanding. If I were entirely a god, I would not feel this profound empathy for every listener. “Thank you for your attention. Concentrating on words insofar as they are directed at you is the first step to communication. Communication, as we are all aware, is the thread that prevents us from falling alone into the abyss, or else attacking those around us, in the pandemonium of a world unbound. Communication ties us to each other. Of course, personal relationships are not necessary in order to be fulfilled. One might be perfectly happy in perfect seclusion, ignoring even the company of the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in All of Our Homes. However, the majority of us find that we need at least one or more threads binding us to sympathetic others. There is no right way of going about this. Once you find that special person, the one you really, really want to communicate with, you only have to reach out. Chances are--”

I share a long, expansive look with Carlos, which leaves us both smiling,

“--they’ll be reaching back.”

 

**One Hundred Years Later (In What May Crudely Be Referred To As Not-Night Vale Universe**

 

Ari scanned the pages. A few minutes in, she laughed, incredulously. Her research partner, Jared, was a little confused by this. Historical texts belonging to the scientists of last century were not often  _ funny _ . Unless this particular scientist, what was his name...Jared snuck another glance at the journal’s cover...right, Carlos, how hard was that, it was only two syllables...unless this particular scientist was either tragically incorrect in his hypotheses, or he had somehow managed to insert multiple witty remarks into what should have been mostly lab reports. 

“Something interesting?” Jared asked her, with a scientist’s readiness to analyze even the smallest details, however unimportant they might first appear. 

“Yeah. Though, um, less equations and theories, and more romantic musings.”

“Wait, what?”

Ari read another few lines, and grinned. “Like a goddamn teenager’s diary. This is seriously  _ the best  _ thing I’ve discovered all week.”

Jared and Ari took turns reading it for the next hour. “Hmm,” Jared said finally. “It just kind of ends. Do you think he succeeded? I mean, we know from the briefing that Carlos disappeared when he was in his thirties. There were some rumors of him re-appearing here and there, but no proof. Think he really…”

“As scientists,” Ari began, clasping the book reverentially, “we can’t ignore mysteries. Maybe he did find Cecil. At any rate, this could be important. Night Vale? Men with tentacles and third eyes? I’m going to start digging. Who knows what I might find?”

  
                                                                            fin


End file.
